








/ 


THE WATCHWORD 


A COMEDY, 


IN FIVE ACTS. 


BY . 

GERTRUDE F. BARRETT 

AND 

GEORGE C. BARRETT. 


NEW YORK: 

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHORS. 

1876. 

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TS 

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7 

DRAMATIS PERSONA 


JOHN GARNER, 

GENERAL RALPH HENDICUTT, 
RUSH LIGHTFOOT, 

FRANK ADCAP, 

HERBERT DELMAR. 

Mrs. JOHN GARNER, 

Mrs. ROSEFIELD, 

PAUL, AGED SIX YEARS, 

Miss FLORA GARNER, 

Miss JESSIE MERRYWEATHER. 


TOM, A COLORED SERVANT. 

A TELEGRAM BOY. 


SCENE. 


A New England Village. 


TIME. 

The Present. 


Entered according to act of Congress in the year Eighteen hundred and seventy-six, by 
Gertrude F. Barrett and George C. Barrett, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


THE WATCHWORD. 



THE BIRTHDAY, 


The scene represents Mr. Garner’s country house or vil] a, which is upon the 
right of the stage. A pretty hedge behind — upon the left. In front a fine lawn. 
On the left, but somewhat in. the foreground, a rustic seat with a basket of flowers 
upon it. Wreaths, flowers, and bouquets scattered about. Atmosphere of a fete. 


Enter, from the house, Lightfoot and Adcap, smoking. 


LIGHTFOOT. 


We will sit here and smoke till the ladies come out, and then 
have a game of croquet. 


ADCAP, 


Those are Miss Flora’s orders, are they ? By the way, is it 
that be— switching girl who brings you down here, Lightfoot ? 


LIGHTFOOT, 


Well, perhaps. She is rather nice and — 

ADCAP. 

And will have half a million, eh ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

I could forgive her if she had a million. 


4 


THE WATCHWORD. 


ADCAP. 

But would not look at her if she were penniless. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Look at her ? Oh, yes — even ogle, whisper, dance, flirt, 
practice — but not marry. 

ADCAP. 

You fellows about town are all mercenary. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Nonsense, man. We only want to live as we have been ac- 
customed to. As a bachelor, with a moderate income, I have 
a charming petit menage — some books, a few good engravings, 
easy chairs, wood fire, decently-cut clothes. I dine at my club 
and enjoy excellent French cooking at a moderate price— smoke 
the best segars as I glance over the evening paper. Afterwards 
I lounge in at the Opera and chat with my friends — 

ADCAP. 

Wives ! — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

In the boxes — sometimes spend an evening at the theatre — 

ADCAP. 

If there is a moral drama, I suppose — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Or go into society and enjoy the extravagance of my friends. 


ADCAP. 

Making love as you go, to — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

To every pretty woman I meet. 

ADCAP. 

You mean every pretty woman who — 


ACT FIRST. 


5 


IilGHTFOOT. 

Exactly. Who will let me. 

ADCAP. 

I see. You have all the bonnes fortunes of life, except a seat 
in a fashionable church. 


IilGHTFOOT. 

And now what becomes of me if I marry on mere — 


Mere love ? 


ADCAP. 


IilGHTFOOT. 

No, mere impecuniosity. A third floor back with an as- 
phyxiating furnace, wild Irish cooking, a Sixth avenue tailor 
once a year, a domestic segar or an infernal pipe, and work, 
work, work until I become a stupid old fogy — 

ADCAP. 

Like our worthy host, old Garner ? By the way, he amuses 
me. It is the funniest thing to see a man who has passed his 
whole life in trade, who has known nothing but business from 
morning till night, trying to cultivate the picturesque and a 
taste for art, to please his wife and daughter. Fancy him, in- 
stead of studying his ledger, getting enthusiastic over a land- 
scape or admiring the proportions of a Venus. 

DIGHTFOOT. 

“The proportions of a Venus!” — The proportions of her 
dry-goods bill would be more in his line. 

ADCAP. 

But Mrs. Garner is a very different sort of person. She is 
naturally an intelligent woman, and she has had leisure and 
plenty of money — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

That is just it. The husband works and the wife plays. 


6 


THE WATCHWORD. 


ADCAP. 

Besult here — a good business man and — a cultured woman — 
for she has travelled and read — and now she settles down in a 
fine villa and entertains her friends in the English fashion. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Yes, I see : — likes distinguished people about her. 

ADCAP. 

Distinguished people ! My dear fellow, she must have heard 
of that recent brilliant success of yours at the bar, when your 
client got ten years while you were watching a corner in Wall 
street! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Ha, ha! I suppose it was your last poem, which the censori- 
ous critics said so much resembled Browning, that induced her 
to invite you. 

(As they are laughing, enter from the house Mr. and Mrs. Garner, Flora and 
Jessie. Flora has her lather’s arm). 


FLORA. 

Papa is mine to-day. He is going to say and do everything I 
wish, because it is his birthday. 

ADCAP. 

I suppose that is his birthday present — the privilege of im- 
plicit obedience. 

FLORA. 

Don’t mind him, papa dear. My wishes are yours, are they 
not? 

GARNER. 

Certainly, my love imprinted here — (Pointing to his heart) — and 
recorded in my check-book. 

FLORA. 

Well, now I am going to leave it to papa and Mr. Lightfoot, 
whether I am right or not. 


ACT FIRST. 


7 


LIGHTF00T. 

Profound attention from the court — 

GARNER. 

And the jury — I am the jury. 

ADCAP. 

Wei], then, don’t disagree. Proceed, Miss Flora. 

FLORA. 

Now I am nearly seventeen years of age, and all the girls — 
girls much younger than I — have parties, and teas, and pic- 
nics — 

JESSIE. 

Oh, and such splendid times! 

FLORA. 

That is, parties all for themselves, you know. 

ADCAP. 

Oh, yes, Miss Flora, we know; parties, and teas, andpic-nics, 
with a postscript to the invitations — “No papas or mamas ad- 
mitted.” 

FLORA. 

That is not fair. It is not what we mean at all. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Of course it is not fair! They only read — “ Chaperones not 
required.” 

JESSIE. 

Oh, I hate chaperones ; and I perfectly despise matrons! ! 

FLORA. 

The girls don’t like to go to married people’s parties. They 
have no fun when — when — 

MRS. GARNER. 

When their seniors are present. 


8 


THE WATCHWORD. 


FLORA. 

We had all agreed that I should have a pic-nic for my friends, 
and now mama says — 

MRS. GARNER. 

Softly, my dear. Let mama speak for herself. 

ADCAP. 

Does “ we had all agreed ” mean we — our royal person — Miss 
Flora ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

I do think that the innovation, which in our modern society, 
separates the married from the single, the mature from the in- 
experienced, is a sad and often a ruinous mistake. Here is a 
young creature, impulsive, confiding, ignorant of herself and 
the world, and you send her out into the society of you know 
not whom, to be exposed to you know not what influences and 
temptations, without her mother, without any one who has the 
power and right to warn and guard — 

GARNER. 

Without even her obedient old papa. 

ADCAP. 

Lord! How aghast young New York would be at the auda- 
city of such sentiments. But don’t be alarmed, Miss Flora, 
the mamas may struggle feebly, but they are always swept into 
the current at last. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Besides this, don’t you see, Mr. Adcap, what loss to society 
there is in this separation of the young from the middle-aged 
and the old. The young lose the example of finished manners 
and formed character, and their elders lose the charm and 
freshness which only youth can impart to society. 

ADCAP. 

(Aside.) Humph ! Some of the young ladies of my acquaint- 
ance have a sufficiently finished manner and formed character 
too, I should say. 


ACT FIRST. 


9 


FLORA. 

I know all that, mama dear, and you are always right ; but 
then, when everybody does a thing, we must follow or leave 
society. And — what do you say, papa darling ? 

GARNER. 

Jane, my dear, my verdict is — don’t be too hard on little 
Flo. 

FLORA. 

And you, Mr. Lightfoot ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, the Court is with you. (To Mrs. Garner.) My dear madam, 
the girls of this age are wonders of judgment and discretion — 
they don’t need guardians. 

ADCAP. 

Certainly not — a law unto themselves. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

And then, you know, when the girls go out, they have us 
young fellows to protect them from all harm. 

JESSIE. 

Oh fiddle-de-dee ! Let us have a jolly good time ! 

MRS. GARNER. 

Well, well ; have it your own way. 

ADCAP. 

(Playfully.) Ah ! more implicit obedience — is it your birthday 
too, madam ? 

JESSIE. 

Oh, I am just dying for a game of croquet. 

FLORA. 

One minute. (To garner.) There is a kiss for the jury for 
being so good to its little Flo. 


10 


THE WATCHWORD. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) Hem ! the Court was good, too. 

FLORA. 

Oh, you dear old papa, you are just too good and lovely for 
anything. You are sweet enough to be dressed up as a Mar- 
quis in a — a powdered wig and beautiful pink coat, a la Wat- 
teau — 

GARNER. 

“ A la Watteau !” What is that, my dear ; a French dish ? 

(Lightfoot and Adcap laugh.) 

FLORA. ' 

You must not laugh, gentlemen. I’ll make my papa as 
romantic as I please ; and there shall be no dinner to-day until 
I have crowned him with roses and danced with him on this 
very lawn. And every morning he shall read Tennyson to me. 
We will commence to-morrow — (courtesying.) — Monsieur le Mar- 
quis, with — with the lines that mama likes so much — “ break , 
break, BREAK !” 

GARNER. 

My dear, I am better at — “ pay, pay, PAY” ! 

ADCAP. 

Well, that’s the old proverb — “who breaks, pays.” 

LIGHTFOOT. 

I have always found it the other way — who pays, breaks ! 

ADCAP. 

That’s the new proverb in Wall street. 

FLORA. 

Now for our game. Where’s my mallet ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Here, Miss Flora. 

(As they are about to go out, enter Tom, the colored servant, with a letter.) 


ACT FIRST. 


11 


TOM. 

A letter for Mars’ Lightfoot, by de afternoon mail. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) Ah! from my brokers. (ExitToM.) 

(Aloud.) A most important letter ladies, from— a — client. 
Pray excuse me. (He opens the letter.) 


FLORA. 

Poor lawyers ! You have no rest anywhere. 


ADCAP. 

(Giving his arm to fjlora.) Except in Heaven, Miss Flora. 

(Exeunt all except Lightfoot and Garner.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Reading excitedly.) “Account to date enclosed” — “market 
declining” — of course! — “interest running against you”-“ must 
request further margin” — always the same ! — “or we shall be 
compelled to” — the old story ! — confound the fellows, what an 
account — all interest and commissions — just my luck — two fat 
law suits and six months’ work sunk in that infernal street ! 

GARNER. 

You seem agitated, my friend. No bad news, I hope ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

No, nothing particular — a friend and client of mine, a foolish 
fellow, who has been losing in stocks and writes to me for 
advice — 

GARNER. 

Stocks ! That must be very exciting ! I don’t mind telling 
you, Lightfoot, that I am a little — a little tired of perpetual 
banishment — I — I mean retirement, and I have thought (now 
this is entirely between ourselves) of relieving the — well, the 
dullness of our life here, by a little quiet and strictly con- 
fidential speculation. 


12 


THE WATCHWORD. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

My dear sir, let me beg of you — don’t ! The outsiders have 
not the slightest chance. I have seen clerks, cashiers, shop- 
keepers, philosophers, spinsters, widows, army officers, navy 
officers, lawyers, doctors, judges, philanthropists, editors, par- 
sons — 

GARNER. 

Parsons! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh ! for the good of the church — to pay off that debt , you 
know. Yes, I have seen them all appear and disappear. First, 
they hover around the crater ; and then they wait for the — 
eruption. 

GARNER. 

But some of them surely got — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Lava ! Nothing else. As you have confided in me, I don’t 
mind telling you that even I have sown my wild oats in that 
direction — long ago, of course — and came near being — in fact, 
was, ruined, three or four times. 

GARNER. 

You must have operated recklessly. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Quite the contrary — always on a point — why there is nothing 
so absolutely ruinous as a “ sure thing,” and as for a “point,” 
— good Heavens ! 

GARNER. 

Upon my word, I think I had better keep out of this — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Decidedly ! (Nervously.) Unless you have something really re- 
liable to go upon. I vowed never to touch stocks again ; but, of 
course, that depends — Now, just before leaving town, I heard 


ACT FIRST. 


13 


something from an undoubted source — a real inside point you 
know — that would double your fortune and make mine within 
ten days. 

GAKNEB. 

Ah ! There is a difference between a point and a real inside 
point — 

BIGHTFOOT. 

Bah ! The difference between a lion and a tiger — none of 
your points for me ! (Again nervously.) Still, there' is money in that 
street, if a man could only give his time and attention to it. 

GAKNEB. 

That is impossible in your honorable but rigorous profession. 

IjIGHTFOOT. 

Oh ! It can be done. Many a time my clerk has put off my 
cases, while I hovered around the exchange, with my eyes 
riveted on the bulletins. 


GAKNEB. 

Do Courts put off cases for such reasons ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Bless you, no ; we invent an excuse — say a death in the 
family. If you have a mother-in-law you are sure to lose her. 
Why in my brief career at the bar, I have lost four aunts, 
half a dozen uncles, and no end of cousins and other trifles of 
that sort. 

GAKNEB. 

Well, I should think the courts would in time become suspi- 
cious of such excuses. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

So they are. One day a crusty old judge — who was probably 
short of stocks himself — said in a tone of Alpine iciness ( imitating 
piping voice and feeble manner,) Really, really the mortality in Mr. 
Lightfoot’s family is something appalling. It is quite wonder- 


14 


THE WATCHWORD. 


ful that lie himself escapes the raging epidemics with which he 
seems to be surrounded,” — looking at my clerk all the time as 
if he’d like to hang him without benefit of clergy. 

GARNER. 

It is well he didn’t do it ; for what would become of you 
lawyers without benefit of clergy. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

You mean, what would become of the clergy without benefit 
of lawyer. 

GARNER. 

Well, well, it is good that you have settled down to your 
legitimate profession. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Of course, it is the only thing — (Nervous again) — still there is 
money in that street. The trouble is, the outsiders are never 
willing to let well enough alone— never satisfied with a moderate 
advance. They all get perfectly crazy — think they are going to 
make their eternal fortunes at a single coup. Of course, the 
tide turns, and — whizz ! ! 

(Enter a boy— whistling and capering— with a telegram. The boy has a boot 
blacking apparatus strapped behind his back and a receipt book in his hand.) 


BOY. 

Is Mr, Tightfut stoppin’ here ? 

GARNER. 

Lightfoot, you mean. That is the gentleman. 

BOY. 

A telegrab, boss — sign that ’ere receipt, will yer, Cap’n. 

(Showing Lightfoot book.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

A telegram ! (Reads.) Squash, Trombones, Farragut ! 


ACT FIRST. 


15 


GARNER. 

Squash, trombones, Farragut ! What does all this mean ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Taking a little book from his pocket.) Here is the key. Messrs. Putt 
and Sellers’ private telegraphic signals. (He turns over the leaves 
rapidly.) Great Heavens ! Squash — “ tremendous excitement” ! 
Trombones — “up four points”! Farragut — “shall we sell”? 
Never, never ! Only four per cent, advance ! Sell indeed ! 
The scoundrels want to bag the stocks themselves, just as a 
fortune is in my grasp. (Writes.) Bull-dog — Gortschakoff ! 

GARNER. 

Bull-dog — Gortschakoff — what is that ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Bull-dog — “hold on.” Gortschakoff — “don’t sell.” 

GARNER. 

Remember what you just said — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

That is all very well ; (Greatly excited,) but when the market is 
steady and the tendency upward, it would be madness to throw 
away the opportunity. There, dispatch that at once. 

BOY. 

Bully for you, boss. — (Looking at lightfoot’s boots.) — Shine ’em 
up, Cap’n ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, get out ! 

BOY. 

(Sarcastically, pointing to Lightfoot’s feet.) Ha, lia, stove polish ! 
(Exit Boy whistling and capering.) 


GARNER. 

Then you are really speculating still ? 


16 


THE WATCHWORD. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, just a little ; and then I tell you after all — there’s money 
in that street — (He paces up and down excitedly ; then suddenly says) — But 
what am I thinking of ? The ladies will never forgive me. 
Come, Mr. Garner, let us join them. . 

(Exit Lightfoot. Garner slowly follows. General Hendicutt appears at 
the hedge behind. Garner pauses without seeing him.) 


GARNER. 

(Absently.) I think I will take a quiet turn in pork : these 
stocks are too exciting. Pork is interesting, without being 
sensational. Yes, yes , pork is the thing. 

GENERAL. 

Many happy returns, my friend. 

GARNER. 

General Hendicutt ! Come in ! Pray come in ! I am right 
glad to see you. The ladies are at their old game — croquet, you 
know. Will you come out to them ? 

GENERAL. 

I fear I should interrupt them, as I am not lover enough of 
that fashionable pastime to join in the game. If you will allow 
me, I will wait for them here. 

GARNER. 

I don’t care for croquet myself, though I do sometimes 
knock a ball about to please Flo. 

GENERAL. 

It must be a happy thing to have a dear child to please. 
(Garner offers him a segar.) Thank you, I do not smoke. 

GARNER. 

(Lighting a segar himself.) Don’t smoke ! ' And you always refuse 
wine, too ! Why, General, you are a regular teetotaler. 


ACT FIRST. 


17 


GENERAL. 

Oh, I am no more ascetic than my Puritan ancestors, whom 
I revere, and whose example is my guide. By the way, you 
have of late forgotten your usual kindly visits to a lonely man. 

GARNER. 

Well, General, these women of mine have kept me busy. 
Flo is always having invitations for this and that ; and as Mrs. 
Garner’s ideas are a little different from most people’s about girls 
going into society alone, why my services are often required. 
Mrs. Garner is a trifle peculiar in such things. I think myself it 
is just as well to do as others do. It is more practical and 
business-like. Besides, we know plenty who do, and they 
don’t seem the worse off. 

GENERAL. 

Yes, it is easier to go with the tide. The question of the right 
is another thing. I have so much respect for Mrs. Garner’s 
judgment that her opinion has great weight with, me. Perhaps 
too, my own ideas on such subjects are not far removed from 
her own, though it is not a matter in which I am ever likely to 
have a personal interest. In the good old New England days 
the maidens did not lack liberty ; perhaps they had even more 
than in our day, when foreign ideas are creeping in among us. 
But the tone of education, manners and morals was very differ- 
ent then. Women and men thought more about their duties 
and less about their rights. Life was a battle — a hard and 
sometimes a terrible battle— but the watchword ever was 
“Duty ”; — duty at home— duty abroad— duty in all the re- 
lations of life — 

GARNER. 

Yes, yes. In those days men and women attended more 
to their legitimate business and there was not this eternal fuss- 
ing and divorcing and rampaging and — 

GENERAL. 

Don’t, my dear friend, don’t talk of these pestilential here- 
sies. There, I admit, I am intulerant. The blood of my fore- 


18 


THE WATCHWORD. 


fathers goes to my head when I think of the prevailing loose- 
ness of thought with respect to marriage. 

GARNER. 

You must talk to Mrs. Garner. She will be delighted to have 
so strong an ally. 

(Enter Mrs. Garner, Flora, Jessie, Lightfoot and Adcap. The General 
bows and greets them as they enter.) 

GENERAL. 

Good day, ladies and gentlemen. 

MRS. GARNER. 

General, we are charmed to see you. 

FLORA. 

Yes, but you are naughty not to come earlier and — and — no 
bouquet for papa on his birthday ! 

GENERAL. 

My dear Miss Flora, fancy my giving flowers to one of my 
own sex ! I should look like a sentimentalist. 

FLORA. 

Then you would look real nice — wouldn’t he Jessie. 

JESSIE. 

Oh ! Too nice to live ! Just like a Heavenly young Cuban ! 

GENERAL. 

Well, well, when your birthday comes, you shall have the 
fairest flowers of my garden. 

FLORA. 

Well, if that means japonicas, I forgive you. But it is so 
long since we have seen you ! What have you been doing with 
yourself all these days ? 


ACT FIRST. 


19 


GENERAL. 

What should a half invalid soldier do, Miss Flora ? I have 
obeyed orders — my physician’s orders, that is — ridden on horse- 
back, walked, retired early and avoided excitement. 

JESSIE. 

Oh, how I hate those stupid old doctors when they tell me to 
avoid excitement. 

GENERAL. 

(To lightfoot and adcap.) When did you arrive, gentlemen ? 

ADCAP. 

Only last evening. 

GENERAL. 

And so you leave your gay and beloved city for a few days in 
our quiet little provincial town ? 

FLORA. 

But it is not so quiet here. We don’t avoid excitement, I can 
tell you ; — and just now — why, I have been longing to see you 
to tell you about it — we have a great mystery — 

LIGHTFOOT AND ADCAP. 

Eh ! A mystery ? 

FLORA. 

(Mysteriously.) Figure to yourselves, as my French teacher used 
to say, that for the last fortnight we have had in that cottage 
opposite, (Points off,) a young and beautiful lady — 

ADCAP. 

(Writing rapidly in his note book.) Wonderful! Wonderful! A young 
and beautiful lady ! Dressed in black, eh? 

FLORA. 

Yes, sometimes — 


20 


THE WATCHWORD. 


ADCAP. 

And closely veiled, eli ? I am in clover. I have found what 
I have been in search of so long — a mystery — areal living mys- 
tery for my great society novel — how shall I penetrate her se- 
cret ? 


LIGHTFOOT. 

I’ll tell you — interview her. 

FLORA. 

Sometimes her veil is lifted ; then you see how pretty she is, 
though her face is sad and she seems to shrink from observa- 
tion. No one knows anything afcfout her — except that her name 
is Mrs. Rosefield. She never goes anywhere except to walk with 
her little boy. 

GENERAL. 

(Dreamily.) A little boy with curls and gentle eyes. I have 
seen him at play. 

ADCAP. 

Small boy, too ! Splendid ! (Writing rapidly.) Small boy’s 
father is dead — in fact she killed him — because (pausing.) — why 
the deuce did she kill him ? (writing again ) — I have it — be- 
cause he would not become a woman’s rights man — she was 
tried by a — (Pausing) — let me see — a — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh ! by a California jury — that is the best for a moral 
romance. 


ADCAP. 

And was unanimously serena — I mean acquitted. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

And then kissed her lawyer madly in open Court ! 

MRS. GARNER. 

Seriously though, my friends, there is something peculiar and 


ACT FIRST. 


21 


mysterious about the lady — her youth and beauty — her strangely 
retired life — her indefinable air of resigned dejection-^ 

ADCAP. 

“ Resigned dejection !” — she has surely written a society 
novel ! 

MBS. GARNER. 

I felt a singular interest in her the first time I saw her pass 
with her slow and languid step, her little boy frolicing beside 
her. Don’t laugh ! It really seems to me that there is some- 
thing pensive even in the child's smile, and that he lacks the 
hearty glee of boyhood. 

ADCAP. 

Brava ! brava ! Mrs. Garner, you ought to write a romance. 

* 

GARNER. 

You are a lawyer, Lightfoot. Now tell us what it all means. 

UGHTFOOT, 

“ Dejection — slow and languid step !” — She’s short of stocks, 
of course. 


GENERAL. 

Pray continue, Mrs. Garner ; I find your story interesting. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Her banker here is also ours. I tried indirectly to make him 
talk — quite in vain. He would say nothing but that he knew 
her to be a highly respectable lady, and that she had ample 
funds in his hands. 

GARNER. 

“ Ample funds !” That’s a guaranty. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Yes, a capital margin against a decline in social standing. 


22 


THE WATCHWORD. 


MBS. GAENEB. 

At any rate slie is not likely to be an adventuress, so I sent 
her a note, begging that she, as a neighbor, would join us to- 
day. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

And she accepted ! — Bravo ! — Then we — 

ADCAP. 

No, no, that would not be romantic — she declined. 

MBS. GAENEB. 

You are right — she declined — in a graceful, courteous, even 
grateful note — on the ground that she was an invalid seeking 
quiet. 

FLOBA. 

“ An invalid seeking quiet !” Why, General, she is only 
imitating you. 

GENEEAL. 

(Abstractedly.) A lonely woman ! That is sad. 

JESSIE. 

(To the two young men.) Oh ! would you like to see her ? 
.LIGHTFOOT AND ADCAP. 

Certainly — certainly — of course — to be sure — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

And I have just thought of an excuse to — 

ADCAP. 

And so have I — 

JESSIE. 

(Looking off.) She is just coming up the road. She’ll pass in 
a moment. 


ACT FIRST. 


(A little shout is heard behind— then a rubber ball rolls on the stage, and a 
child’s voice -without cries:) 

Oh ! mama ! my ball ! my ball ! 

(Paul runs on the stage through the opening in the hedge at the back. Mrs . 
Rosefield appears, pausing and hesitating.) 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Pardon me ! I fear it is not the first time that my little boy’s 
ball has troubled you, madam — 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Advancing.) Do not mention it — you look weary — will you 
not sit a moment ? 

(The General picks up the ball and gives it to the child — Mrs. Rosefield 
comes forward still hesitating.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Kindly.) We were so sorry, madam, that your health would 
not permit you to join our little birthday party to-day. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I too, regretted it, madam — particularly as you were so kind 
as to think of a stranger. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Looking intently at her.) I know not how it is ; you do not seem 
like a stranger to me — your face is singularly familiar — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

And yet I think we have never met before. 

MRS. GARNER. 

If I could forget all these years — if I could imagine myself a 
girl again, I should think that I was speaking to Helen Morley, 
my girlhood’s dearest friend. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(With emotion.) Helen Morley! Why, that was my mother’s 
maiden name. I was still a child when I lost her. She some- 


24 


THE WATCHWORD. 


times spoke to me of school-girl friends — I cannot, however, re- 
call the name of Garner. 


MRS. GARNER. 

(Smiling.) Certainly not. My name was not Garner then. 
Did yon never hear her speak of Jane Denton? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Jane Denton? Oh, yes, many, many times — is it possible? 
Are you then, madam, indeed my mother’s old friend? 

MRS. GARNER. 

What a singular chance! But I should have known you as 
her daughter anywhere — it is a wonderful resemblance — I knew 
of her death, but not that she had left children. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I was her onty child, and my father survived her but a short 
time. 

MRS. GARNER. 

My dear girl! — Permit me to call you so — you seem so near 
to me — I am so happy to meet you. You are in ill health — so 
young, and — already a widow! Forgive me! I see I pain you. 
Come, we will sit here and you shall tell me about your — 
your mother. My friends, J have found in this lady the daugh- 
ter of a very dear friend of past days. (All bow.) I know you 
will excuse me for chatting with her for a few minutes. 

(They converse apart.) 


GENERAL. 

Wliat is your name, my little man? 


Paul. 


PAUL. 


GENERAL. 

Will you play ball widi me? 


ACT FIRST. 


25 


\ 


PAUL. 

Yes, if mama will. 

GENERAL. 

Does mama play ball? 

PAUL. 


Yes, with me — let’s ask her. 


(Paul tries to lead the General towards his mother. The General smiles and 
seeks, by pleasantry, to divert the boy from his purpose. At this momeut Tom 
enters from the house.) 

TOM. 

Dinner — ladies and gemmen ! 

(Exit Tom.) 


FLORA. 

Gracious! And I have not had my dance yet! Jessie, where 
is our wreath? Now, like a dear girl, play us a waltz. 


JESSIE. 

Oh! I’ll give you a Heavenly Strauss ! — a perfect soul-spin- 
ner! 

(Jessie runs into the house.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

I’d rather have a perfect leg-spinner! 

(Enter Boy with telegram— whistling and capering.) 


BOY. 

A telegraph for Mr. Brightfut — sign that ’ere receipt, 
Cap’n! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Reads.) Syllabub — Schweizerkase — Bismarck. (Looking into the 
little book.) — Syllabub — “sudden panic Schweizerkase — “heavy 
fall in stocks”; Bismarck — “ obliged to sell”! Oh, Lord! 
Smashed ! 


3 


26 


THE WATCHWORD. 


(He falls on a rustic seat, muttering “ Syllabub, Scliweizerkase, Bismarck.” Exit 
Boy, whistling and capering. Waltz from within — “ Thousand and One Nights.”) 

FLORA. 

(To Mrs. garner.) Mama dear, you must take just one little 
turn, to please me — (She imta the wreath on Garner's head.) There ! 
Doesn’t he look perfectly lovely? — Now papa, darling — 

GARNER. 

Mv dear, I cannot. I don’t know liow to dance. Take Light- 
foot! He is more in the light fantastic line — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Oil, I am dancing already — on a devilish hot gridiron — 
(Sotto voce.) “Syllabub, Scliweizerkase, Bismarck.” 

(Paul still insists on taking the General to his mother— The General yields 
at last, smilingly, and allows the boy to lead him to Mrs. Rosefield.) 

PAUL. 

\ " 

Come, let us ask her — 

(The music and dancing then proceed.) 


TABLEAU. 

Dancers in the centre— Mr. Garner dancing with Flora — Mrs. Garner with 
Adcap— Lightfoot on the rustic chair, left — G eneral and Paul approaching 
Mrs. Rosefield, right. 


ACT SECOND. 

THE PIC-NIC. 


TEN PAYS ARE SUPPOSED TO HAVE ELAPSED. 


The scene represents a pic-nic grove, with lake in the background. A boat with 
a gay awning is fastened to the shore. A rustic table is spread with lunch. All 
seated round it: the General next to Mrs. Rosefiild — Mrs. Garner next to 
Flora, on the other side of whom is Mr. Garner — next to him Adcap — Ihen 
Jessie— then Lightfoot. Tom is opening a champagne bottle and filling the 
glasses — gaiety and laughter — clinking of glasses, &c. 

When the scene opens, and occasionally during the act, when it will not inter- 
fere with the dramatic action, little gay boats of d.fferent colors, and with varie- 
gated flags are seen, passing to and fro in the background of the lake. 

„ • 

A short drinking refrain is heard for a moment before the curtain rises, words 
as tollows: 


Then let our voices ring on high; 

Awake a merry strain, 

And fill the golden goblet high; 

Let not one drop remain. 

(Music by E. Millet, Esq.) 


GARNER. 

(Somewhat gay with wine.) They may talk as they like of the 
country; I say, the old city for me! 


JESSIE. 

Oh, yes! Fifth avenue is just Heavenly! 

/ 

FLORA. 

Jessie, how can you ? 

GARNER. 

Why Flo— you like the town yourself; you know you do, 
you little sly-boots. 


28 


THE WATCHWORD. 


FLORA. 

(Demurely.) Yes, for innocent shopping and quiet parties in 
the winter. But then I really do lo\e the country. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

And what is there in the city to compare with that beautiful 
lake, mirroring in its pure depths a lovely sunset or a gorgeous 
rainbow ? 

ADCAP. 

Why thousands of gorgeous rainbows! In fact our New York 
beauties are all double rainbows. The bow in our city clouds 
is Cupid’s. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

But where is the covenant ? 

ADCAP. 

Why, in our double rainbows, my boy — for don’t they re- 
mind us that the race of man is never again to be swept from 
the face of the earth. 

FLORA. 

I don’t mind you, Mr. Adcap, but I am surprised at papa. 

GARNER. 

Humbug! What can a man find here that’s got the go of 
steamer day in town ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside to Adcap.) The wine is going to his head. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Why, John, you are not in earnest ? Surely you do like the 
dear country ? 

GARNER. 

Certainly — certain — ly — my — my love — cer — tain — ly : — still, 
when I think of old times — 

FLORA. 

(Trying to change the conversation.) A toast, give US a toast Mr. 
Lightfoot ! 


ACT SECOND. 


29 


JESSIE. 

Oil, do ! I just adore toast. Oh, I shall like you ever so 
much if you will. 

ADCAI\ 

Indeed ! and how do you spell like, Miss Jessie ? As the girls 
usually do — L — O — V — E ? 

JESSIE. 

Oh, go away; they don’t do anything of the kind. 


FLORA. 

Not when they “ like ” toasts any way — come, Mr. Lightfoot. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

No, no; — ask Adcap — he is the literary man. 


ALL. 

Yes, yes; — a toast from Mr. Adcap. 


ADCAP. 

(Looking at the General and Mrs. Rosefield, who converse apart.) Well, 
I give you friendship— [ in a cynical tone)— friendship between man 
and woman. 


ALL. 

(All, except the General, drinking.) Friendship! 


ADCAP. 

Won’t you drink even to that toast, General ? 


GENERAL., 

Yes, if you wish — in water. 

ADCAP. 

But such friendship should not be diluted. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Don’t you believe friendship possible between man and 
woman, Mr. Adcap ? 


30 


THE WATCHWORD. 


ADCAP. 

(Dryly.) Certainly; frienship is possible— between a man and 
liis wife, for instance — 

(Laughter. ) 

MRS. EOSEFIELD. 

One might be satisfied with friendship, if it were only loyal 

LIGHTFOOT. 

I should think any fellow might manage to be loyal — to 
friendship. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Oh, these young people ! We were not such sceptics in our 
day, were we, John ? 

ADCAP. 

No, madam; because in your day, the young fellows married 
early — and repented late. We have got bravely over that. 
Now-a-days, all the good husbands are those who have 
sown their wild oats; and no fellow thinks of marrying until 
he has had his fling and seen life. Then, when the bonffe and 
the ballet begin to pall, when ennui and rheumatism set in, a 
man of the world is willing to settle down. 

GENERAL. 

That is, when you have exhaused every pleasure — when your 
constitutions are shattered by dissipation and vice— you con- 
descend to honor some pure and innocent woman with — your 
debris ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Put that in your meerschaum, Adcap! By Jove, it will color 
it. (Seriously.) As for me, I abhor the boujfe and I mourn over 
the ballet. I at least mean to die— I mean — to marry, young. 

(All rise. Mr. and Mrs. Gakneb come forward.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

Now, John, I want to have a few serious words with you. 


ACT SECOND, 


31 


GARNER. 

(Aside. He is nervous and still vinous.) Lord, Can she know about 
the pork speculations ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

I am dying to know what all these telegrams mean. 

GARNER. 

Tel — e — grams, my dear ! 


MRS. GARNER. 

Yes ; I am always stumbling over that terrible little boy with 
a telegram in his hand. Ten days ago, when Mr. Liglitfoot 
first came, they were for him ; but now I hear the urchin eter- 
nally mumbling “Mr. Garden” — as he calls you. 

GARNER. 

(Confused.) You said you — a — wanted some bird seed, my 
dear, and so I — 

MRS. GARNER. 

What ! You actually telegraphed for such a trifle ? 

GARNER. 

Why— a— I was long of— no, no — I mean you were short 
of — of — bird-seed, and — (With sudden animation ) — what kind of a 
husband would I be to let my darling wife’s canary starve! 

(He embraces her.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

But. my dear, that only accounts for one dispatch. 

GARNER. 

(More and more confrsec 1 ..) Oh ! you forget the okra for the soup. 
I ordered one thousand barrels of — I mean one thousand cans 
of okra. 

MRS. GARNER. 

One thousand cans of ckra ! ! Good gracious, John ! Is the 
■whole family to bathe in gumbo soup ? 


32 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GARNER. 


And then I had to carry five thousand barrels of pork — a — 
that is — 


MRS. GARNER. 


Pork ! — 


GARNER. 

Yes— for larding , you know— a— it’s excellent for larding! 


MRS. GARNER. 

Five thousand barrels of pork for larding. Good heavens, 
John ! Are you mad ? 

GARNER. 

No, no, no ; not pork — I mean tulip bulbs : — and then I had 
to deliver the— a — that is to get the artichokes you were out 
of — 

MRS. GARNER. 

It was very kind of you to think of all our little wants — but 
so many telegrams — 

GARNER. 

(Meaningly.) .Well, well, other people have birthdays as well 
as I — 

MRS. GARNER. 

Birthdays ! 

GARNER. 

No, no — wedding anniversaries — that’s it. Now, have you 
forgotten that our wedding day is shortly to be celebrated ? 


MRS. GARNER. 

(With an expression of satisfaction.) So that is it ; — I see ; — you 
wanted to surprise me ; — how very good of you. It is quite a 
relief to know it : I was really beginning to be troubled. 

GARNER. 

(Aside.) I am out of that scrape — but I’m afraid there is a 
corner in telegrams. 

(During the progress of the scene Lightfoot and Flora have slipped out 
right, and Adcap and Jessie, left.) 


ACT SECOND. 


33 


MRS. GARNER. 

(Looking around.) Where are those children ? I never saw any- 
thing like them for getting out of sight at short notice. The 
woods are damp. They will certainly get cold. Let’s follow 
them, John. 

GARNER. 

(Aside.) “Woods damp !” There has not been a drop of rain 
for a month. But there’s always something amiss when Flo 
has a beau about. 

(Exeunt Mr. and Mrs. Garner. General Hendicutt and Mrs. Rosefield 
are seated on a rustic seat or on a rock, somewhat in the foreground. Paul is 
near them, playing with a toy horse.) 


PAUL. 

Mama, may I play Captain with my horsey ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Yes, darling ; but don’t go out of sight. 

I 

GENERAL. 

What a lovely, peaceful scene ! This little island is asso- 
ciated with many an escapade of my boyhood — 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

You are fortunate in having such reminiscences. I have 
always lived in New York ; yet I love nature so dearly. It 
seems to me that I am calmer, nearer to happiness, in the 
country. 

GENERAL. 

I understand that. I have often felt, in the midst of crowded 
cities, a longing for the quiet and peace of my native village, 
(for I was born in that little town yonder), but then my life 
has been passed, for the most part, in the military school and 
camp. 

MR. ROSEFIELD. 

And you have left the service '? 


34 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GENERAL. 

Oli, no ; — I was granted leave of absence to get well of a 
wound — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

You. were wounded ! 

GENERAL. 

Yes, somewhat seriously ; a bullet here. (Pointing to his right 
side.) 

MRS. ROSEEIELD. 

Ah, but it was for your country. 


GENERAL. 

Would that it were so. I should have gloried in that. Rut 
a wretched encounter growing out of a — 


MRS. ROSEEIELD. 

A duel ! 

GENERAL. 

(With energy.) Certainly not ! Out of a resolute refusal to en- 
gage in so unrepublican and unholy a combat. No, no ; even 
then I did not forget my watchword. (After a pause, with softness.) 
But my wound is nearly well now. I have lingered here per- 
haps longer than was necessary. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Surely you needed rest after such an illness. 

GENERAL. 

I might have gone away, and then — on what little things our 
fate depends ! I have found pleasure in revisiting the old, 
familiar places ; even the trees have grown mature in the years 
of my absence — and now — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

And now you will go back to that wild life on the frontier — 


GENERAL. 

Yes, yes, it is time. Life is a strange thing, is it not, Mrs. 
Rosefield ? We go on, year after year, in the old monotonous 


ACT SECOND, 


35 


way, fulfilling, as best we may, our duties : our days are all one 
gray color : we do not expect or even hope for change, and — 
suddenly we meet some one — a person whom yesterday we did 
not know — of whose existence we did not even dream — and all 
our life is changed. You see there are some threads of white 
among my hair ; and yet, it is to me a new experience. It 
seems like a special revelation that transfigures the very face of 
the universe. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Confused, and trying to conceal agitation.) I have heard that you 
were literary, General, but I did not know you were a poet. 


GENERAL. 

If I am a poet, it is only because to be near you — to live a 
day — an hour under your influence — developes all the latent 
poetry and reverence of a man’s nature. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Unable to conceal her emotion.) You do me too niuch honor. I 
wish I could believe myself worthy of your praise. I feel — 

(Making an effort to control herself, rises abruptly and moves away.) But 

where is my little Paul ? He has disappeared ! 


GENERAL. 

Let me look for him. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Don’t trouble yourself ; I see him — (Looks off and calls.) — Paul ! 
(Paul runs on with Tom the colored servant.) 


PAUL. 

Here, dear mama— see what pretty flowers Tom has given 
me. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Lovely, my pet ! General, we are letting our friends get the 
start of us: — ought not I also to see the beauties of this little 
island which you know so well ? Will you be my guide ? 


36 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GENERAL. 

I will go with you wherever you will. 

(Exeunt the General, Mrs. Rosefield and Paul. Tom begins to clear the 
table.) 

TOM. 

Dem white folks habin’ good time I reckon. Cullud people 
nebber liab no good time up year Norf. Wages is good up year 
and quarters is good; but den dar’s no place like home and I 
does tink bery of den of old Yirginy. 

(Enter Delmar in hunting dress— carrying a gun.) 

DELMAR. 

(Aside,) Signs of a pic-nic here. Something may begot out of 
this black fellow. (Aloud.) Any birds in these woods, boy ? 

TOM. 

Dono for sure, marster. I *s heard dar is. Dey’s been eatin 
birds year. 

DELMAR. 

Ah ! a pic*nic, eh ? 


Yas, marster ; 1 reckon dat’s de name — 

DELMAR. 

Pretty girls, I suppose ? 

TOM. 

(Laughing.) Yah, yah, yah — dat’s de fact, marster — Miss Flo 
am putty and Miss Jess am putty too ; and dat udder lady, dat 
hab de little boy — she take de shine right off dem all. 

DELMAR. 

(Eagerly.) A lady with a little boy— lives in the village— has 
lately come here ? 

TOM. 

I tink so, marster ; — ah, she am putty — putty. 


ACT SECOND. 


37 


DELMAR. 

(Aside.) Tliis looks like it— this and the information I gathered 
in the village X must get a peep at this party. It enrages me 
to think how often she has given me the slip. (Aloud.) They will 
soon be back here, I suppose. 

TOM. 

I reckon dey will, marster. 


DELMAR. 

(Giving money.) Don’t say anything* about me — do you under- 
stand ? 

TOM. 

Yah, yah, marster. I’s been Souf — I knows what for de 
gemman gib de c-ullud boy money. 

(Exit Delmar— Enter Lightfoot and Flora. Lightfoot’s knees are suspi- 
ciously green. He has an arm around Flora and is evidently seeking to per- 
suade her. Bye-play Tom is struck with the state of Lightfoot’s knees, and 
he, following Tom’s glance, becomes contused. ) 

TOM. 

Beg pardon, mars’ Lightfoot, prayin’ in de woods be a great 
comfort to de sinner; but it’s awful heavy on de white duck. 

(He brushes Lightfoot’s knees.; 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Yes, Tom; but a fellow must not neglect his devotions you 
know. Where two or — two are gathered together — you under- 
stand — 

TOM. 

Pufficklv, sah — con — tinue. 

(Exit Tom*) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Now, my darling, do promise me to fly ! 

FLORA. 

Fly ! But why should we fly ? 


38 


THE WATCHWORD. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

All, my angel, my life, because your parents will never con- 
sent. I am so innocent — I mean you are so innocent ; — then 
we are both so young and — a — short — that is, inexperienced 
— and all that sort of thing. Oh, do elope — it’s real nice, too — 


FLORA. 

Never ! Just tbink how it would look in all the newspapers. 
In place of “ Married” — ran away, Miss Flora Garner and Mr. 
Rush Lightfoot — no cards ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Then if you object to an elopement, let us have a nice lively 
little secret marriage. 

FLORA. 

That’s worse. There is some good in being driven off in a 
buggy and not being seen for ever so long. But a nasty, quiet, 
stay-at-home marriage, that’s immoral! Besides. I wouldn’t 
marry any man without a Parisian trousseau. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) The Parisian trousseau is moral! (Aloud.) Oh, Flora, a 
trousseau is a good thing, but it cannot supply the place of a 
loving, beating heart — 

FLORA. 

No — but it can cover it very nicely — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) It can cover a bleeding 'pocket very nicely too — 

FLORA. 

My idea of marriage is a grand wedding — the wedding of the 
season— with wider canvas awnings and larger carpets in the 
street and more carriages and flowers and lights and music and 
dancing and collation and people, than any other girl ever had 
or ever can, shall or will have at her wedding — there now ! 


ACT SECOND. 


39 


LIGHTFOOT. 

With the Parisian trousseau — which has paid no duty ? 


FLORA. 

Of course not. It is just wicked to pay duty on those sweet, 
angelic robes. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Emphatically.) Women are all free-traders ! (Aside.) I’ve heard of 
some of them getting indicted for — for free-trading ! 

» FLORA. 

There must be four dozen of everything from black silk dresses 
down to stock — I mean boots ; — and then oceans of presents — 


LIGHTFOOT. 

The inevitable napkin rings ! A separate dozen from every 
mortal soul of your acquaintance. 


flora. * 

Yes ; and no end of fish knives and ice cream cutters and 
soup ladles and gravy spoons — and — and — oh, and everything! 


LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) How she glows ! (Aloud.) But, good Heavens, you have 
forgotten one thing. 

FLORA. 

What is that ? 


The Husband ! 


LIGHTFOOT. 


FLORA. 

Oh, he is thrown in. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

“Thrown in!” Good! I was afraid he was going to be 
thrown out. 

(Enter Mr. and Mrs. Garner, the General, Mrs. Rosefield and Paul.) 


40 


THE WATCHWORD. 


FLORA. 

Hush! Here comes mama. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Well, here you are at last. How could we have missed you 
in our long walk ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside to Flora.) Don’t mention that we saw them through the 
trees, and immediately took the longest path across the woods, 
i Aloud.) Why it is very surprising. We have been looking — 
Aside.) out — (Aloud) for you everywhere ; have we not, Miss 
Flora ? 

GARNER. 

Mrs. Garner has fairly walked me off my legs. I must say 
that a pic-nic at Delmonico’s would be less fatiguing, and — 

/ . 

LIGHTFOOT. 

And more concrete. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Do tell me, Mr. Lightfoot, have you seen anything of Jessie 
and Mr. Adcap ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Not so much as a wave of Miss Jessie’s curls, or the smoke 
of Adcap’s segar. 

GENERAL. 

(Smiling.) People seem to disappear here, ass. yon an enchanted 
island. 

FLORA. 

The scene and the day have been bright and beautiful enough 
for enchantment. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside to Flora.) Do X count for anything in its brightness ? 

FLORA. 

You are vain enough to think so, I dare say. 



ACT SECOND. 


41 


GARNER. 

“Bright and beautiful!” It’s not very bright now then. 
The dampness has given me a twinge of rheumatism in the 
back. 

GENERAL. 

(Looking at the sky.) You are right. The west is very dark. 
There is a storm at hand. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Why, then, we must think about getting home at once ; and 
the first step is to find Jessie and Mr. Adcap. I propose we all 
go together and look for them. 

GARNER. 

Jane, I must say this looking up young people does not agree 
with my constitution. 

FLORA. 

Never mind, papa, you will come with me. (Aside.) We will 
fall behind, and rest by the way. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Aside to Mrs. Gabneb.) Dear Mrs. Garner, I have really need of 
rest. Let me wait for you here. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Aside to the General.) We will leave our friend here. She is 
weary. 

GENERAL. 

(To Mrs. Rosefield.) You are very pale. I fear you are ill. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Thanks. I am only a little tired. You will find me bright 
again when you return. 

GENERAL. 


And little Paul ? 
May I go, mama ? 


PAUL. 


4 


42 


THE WATCHWORD. 


MES. EOSEFIELD. 

Yes, darling. General, I confide him to you. 

MES. GABITEE. 

Come, Mr. Lightfoot ; this time you shall take the short cut. 

(Exeunt Li&htfoot and Mrs. Garner, Mr. Garner and Flora, the General 
and Paul.) 

MES. EOSEFIELD. 

(Alone.) How good he is! How sympathetic ! How thought- 
ful of me! Did he mean me to understand — oh, no, no ; he is 
worthy of a more unclouded love ! I, with a heart and life in 
ruins, love again, dream again of happiness — impossible! 

(Delmar has entered above. He comes slowly forward. Mrs. Eosefield sees 
him, suppresses a cry of terror, and staggers against a tree.) 

DELMAE. 

Upon my word, if I were some ferocious animal, you could 
not look more horrified. The reception is not flattering. 

MES. EOSEFIELD. 

(Feebly) Why are you here ? What do you want with me ? 

. DELMAE. 

A refreshingly cool question under the circumstances — noth- 
ing more, my dear madam, than a few minutes serious conver- 
sation with you. 

MES. EOSEFIELD. 

This is no time, no place. Come to my house this evening. 

DELMAE. 

Very satisfactory! The probabilities are that I should not 
find you nor any trace of you. No, no! I have had too much 
trouble to find you. I shall not so easily lose sight of you 
again. 

MBS. EOSEFIELD. 

(Greatly agitated.) My friends will be here in a moment ; what 
shall I say to them ? 


ACT SECOND. 


43 


DELMAB. 

Introduce me as a friend. I will linger about for a few min- 
utes in the little grove yonder, and then return. You will 
greet me as if we had not before met to-day. 1 will go home 
with you. If you know how to control yourself, no one need 
suspect anything. 

MBS. BOSEFIELD. 

I consent — only leave me now. 

DELMAB. 

One word more : at the village hotel I am known as Herbert 
— so — Mr. Herbert, if you please. 

(Exit Delmar — Mrs. Bosefield falls on a seat covering her face with her hands 
—Enter General carrying Paul.) 

MBS. BOSEFIELD. 

Is he ill ? Has anything happened to 

GENEBAL. , 

but that the little fellow grew tired ; so I 
came on in advance of the others. But 
You are pale — you tremble. 

MBS. BOSEFIELD. 

I am so troubled about — Paul. The storm is approaching 
very fast. He is so delicate ; if he gets wet he will surely be ill. 

GENEBAL. 

Is that all ? Why see, I have here my old military cloak, the 
friend of many a long march in inclement weather. I will 
wrap him up so that you will not catch one gleam of his blue 
eyes, and we can defy all the rain in the clouds. 

MBS. BOSEFJELD. 

You are always good. I trust you more than I can say ; but 
— but— if I might ask you to take him home now — without a 
moment’s delay — 


(Starting up hurriedly.) 
him ? 

Nothing whatever 
picked him up and 
what is the matter ? 


44 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GENERAL. 

You know you may command me, but — 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Oil, I pray you do what I ask — what I beg — without ques- 
tion. 


GENERAL. 

I obey — I obey — only calm yourself — come, Paul. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

How much I thank you ! One word — do not — do not take 
him to — my house — leave him at Mrs. Garner’s ; I shall pass 
the evening there. 

(General bows and exit left. Laughter without.) 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Just in time. Here they are. 

(She walks a little aside and makes an effort to compose herself. Enter Adcap 
and Jessie, half running.) 

ADCAP. 

Lord ! They are like a pack of hounds at our heels. 

(Enter Mr. and Mrs. Garner, Lightfoot and Flora.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Assuming a dignified air.) Now, young people, give an account of 
yourselves ! 

FLORA. 

Jessie, Jessie, I fear that you have been flirting. 

JESSIE. 

No, but we have had a perfectly scr-r-r-rumptious time ! 
Mr. Adcap has been reading his romance to me and showing 
me some Heavenly situations. Oh, they are perfectly, gor- 
geously CELESTIAL. 

ADCAP. 

(Opening his note-book.) Precisely. You can all see for yourselves. 
Reading.) Scene — a stalactite cavern — there is always an air of 


ACT SECOND. 


45 


mystery when you get under ground, and besides the stalactites 
give a fellow a chance for fine writing — 

JESSIE. 

Oh, Mr. Adcap is a perfect artist ! 

ADCAP. 

(Still reading.) Miss Flora, as the heroine, is discovered seated 
on a night-blooming Cereus. Lightfoot, as the demon of the 
pit, is seen approaching — 


.LIGHTFOOT. 

It won’t do, Adcap. It won’t do. 

FLORA. 

No. It is just a little too — diverting ! 

JESSIE. 

But when we saw it was going to rain, we really did leave 
the — the — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

The stalactite cavern ? 

JESSIE. 

No, the Heavenly little grove ; and really and truly we were 
going to hurry back. 

MRS. GARNER. 

When were* you going to hurry back ? We found you, Miss 
Jessie, sitting on the shore engaged in throwing stones in the 
water and Mr. Adcap lying almost at your feet, without a sign 
of a note-book, and smoking his twentieth segar. 

JESSIE. 

But, auntie — 

MRS. GARNER. 

There — there — I am not scolding, child. For that matter 
we have not time. Come, all of you, now, and help pack the 
lunch baskets. 


46 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GARNER. 

This pic-nic is all work and no play. I never pic-nic’d so 
much with my legs and arms in all my life. Now, at Del- 
monico’s — 

(Flora puts her hand over his mouth. He sits. Distant thunder and light- 
ning.) 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Advancing to Mrs. Garner.) Let me help — 

MRS. GARNER. 

No, my dear. You, too, are on the tired list. You look 
really exhausted. These little hands are as cold as ice — 

(Enter Delmar. He removes his hat and addresses Mr. Garner.) 

DELMAR. 

Pardon this intrusion ; my dog has strayed away and I 
thought — (Looking at Mrs. rosefield.) — Is it possible — what a sur- 
prise ! 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Giving her hand.) This is an unexpected — pleasure. (To Mr. and 
Mrs. Garner.) Allow me to present Mr. — Mr. Herbert. A friend 
— in other days. 

(All bow.; 

ADCAP. 

E(At the shore, looking off, left.) Here’s an astonishing thing! The 
General’s boat has disappeared and the General with it. By 
Jove, soldier as he is, he was frightened by the lightning and 
ran away from the storm. What is to become of us now ? We 
can’t all get in one boat and the shower is on us. 

LIGHTFOOT, FLORA AND JESSIE. 

Oh, we are lost ! 

FLORA. 

How will we ever get home ? 

{_ JESSIE. 

Oh ! I shall die — I know I shall. 


ACT SECOND. 


47 


LIGHTFOOT. 

The country is safe. I have a green silk umbrella. 

JESSIE. 

Oh, Mr. Lightfoot, you know me. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Perfectly. I don’t know any one else. 

FLORA. 

(To Jessie.) You horrid, selfish thing. How many stalactite 
caverns do you want ? 

ADCAP. 

(Singing.) What ho, 

“ For a life on the ocean wave 

And a home on the rolling deep.” 

JESSIE. 

“ The rolling deep ”! Oh, I shall be seasick— I know I shall 
be seasick. And we will all be drowned, I know we shall. 
I know I shall die — and — and all my clothes will be spoiled. 
(Crying.) 

DELMAR. 

Permit me to offer my boat. (Pointing oil, right.) It is large 
enough for several of your party — besides my friend here — 
(indicating Mrs. Rosefield)— who will do me the — the honor to accept a 
seat. 

GARNER. 

Very kind of you, I’m sure — yes, certainly, we’ll do that. 

(Mrs. Rosefield comes forward and a little apart with Mrs. Garner, Gabner, 
Adcap and Delmar converse. The others are busy in the background, talking 
and laughing, and: soothing Jessie.) 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(With great emotion.) Come in the boat with me, and let me go 
home with you, I must claim your hospitality and protection 
to-night. 


THE WATCHWORD. 


48 


MRS. GARNER. 

You alarm me ! My dear girl, what is it ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I will tell you all to-night. In the name of my mother, do 
not turn away from me now. 


MRS. GARNER. 

I will not. As I would not have such an appeal from my 
own child pass unheeded, I will stand by you to the end, what- 
ever be your mystery. 

(Enter the General hastily — left upper entrance. Garner and Adcap have left 
Delmar and gone up towards the boat, where they have joined Lightfoot, 
Flora and Jessie. Mrs. Rosefield and Mrs. Garner turn, see the General and 
go towards him : Mrs. Rosefield quickly, eagerly.) 

GENERAL. 

(To Mrs. Rosefield.) The little one is safe with his nurse. 

DELMAR. 

(With cold emphasis.) Pardon me, Madam, you have mistaken 
your direction. (With a gesture in the direction of his boat.) 


TABLEAU. 

In the foreground. Mrs. Garner with her arm about Mrs. Rosefield. — Delmar, 
right, pointing off right. General, left. Behind— the others in the boat, laugh- 
ing, singing, &c. Some rain. Distant thunder and lightning. The boat begins 
to move off. Lightfoot puts up his umbrella and Flora and -Jessie crowd un- 
der it. 


ACT THIRD. 


THE PUKITAN. 

THE EVENING OF THE SAME DAY. 


The scene represents Mrs. Garner’s drawing-room — Evening — Lighted chan- 
delier — Long windows at back look out on lawn- -An elegant and luxurious apart- 
ment. Side-table, left, with lamp.. Garner reading a newspaper. Mrs. Garner 
with fancy work. Piano right. Flora playing a nocturne of Chopin. Lightfoot 
bending over her. Adcap seated on a sofa holding a cup of tea. Mr. and Mrs. 
Garner have cups of tea upon the side-table. The lights are partially lowered, 
and there is an atmosphere of twilight in the room. 

MRS. GARNER. 

t 

Is not that nocturne of Chopin beautiful ? 

GARNER. 

Gold down ; stocks up. Heh ! my dear ! To tell you the 
truth, I don’t know much about it. If you asked me now 
about the quality of goods, I should be at home ; but music — 
well, I do know “ Yankee Doodle ” and “ Anld Lang Syne.” 


MRS. GARNER. 

(With a pained look, but trying to smile.) So you have not yet learned 
to like classical music ; but that will come — 

GARNER. 

I don’t think it will, my dear. You see I wasn’t brought up 
to it. I like to please you, but — (Yawning.) 

ADCAP. 

(Writing in his note-book.) Les Idees Adcapiennes — after dinner: — 
new school definitions— honesty in public men— doing some- 
thing which benefits us at the expense of everybody else— dis- 


50 


THE WATCHWORD. 


honesty — acting against our interests for the benefit of every- 
body else — 

MRS. GARNER. 

A penny for that wonderful thought, Mr. Adcap. 

ADCAP. 

It is not worth it, madam. I was merely inquiring — vainly 
inquiring — how to bring about a revival in our society — of 
modesty and simplicity ! 

MRS. GARNER. 

And did so trifling a problem disturb so intellectual a writer 
as Mr. Adcap ? Why, my dear sir, all you have to do is to 
make modesty and simplicity the fashion. 


ADCAP. 

Ah, madam, I fear that even in that case, the ladies would 
try to show us that they are not always fashion’s slaves. But 
talking of modesty and simplicity, where is Miss Jessie? Have 
the number of her interjections to-day been too much for her? 

MRS. GARNER. 

She has a headache and has retired. I think it must have 
been the storm. 

ADCAP. 

(RiBing.) May I solace myself for her absence with a very 
mild segar and a chat with the rising moon? 

MRS. GARNER. 

Certainly, but I hope all your romances do not end in — 
smoke and moonshine. 

ADCAP. 

Worse than that, madam — in ashes. 

MRS. GARNER. 

You are melancholy to-night. 

ADCAP. 


Literary — purely literary. 


ACT THIRD. 


51 


MRS. GARNER. 

Literary gloom ! — how is that ? 

ADCAP. 

I was wondering, pensively wondering — in ease Miss Jessie’s 
good father slioiild ever fail in business — I beg his pardon, I 
mean really lose his money — what would ever become of her 
adjectives ! 

(Exit Adcap.) 

FLORA. 

Now, Rush, you have a good opportunity to see what mama 
thinks about it — you need not look alarmed — I will try papa. I 
can almost always coax him into anything I wish. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

I wish you would coax her, too. I am afraid my ways are 
not so winning as yours. But here goes. (To Mrs. Garner.) Mrs. 
Garner, will you allow me to show you a curious geological 
specimen which we picked up in the woods to-day ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

Mr. Lightfoot a scientist ! Who would have thought it ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, I always did believe in monkeys and gorillas — and — a — 
that kind of thing. 

(She rises and walks away with him up the stage. Flora goes around the table 
and kneels beside her father.) 

FLORA. 

Oh ! that stupid, stupid paper ! (She takes it away from Garner.) 
How often I wish there were not a newspaper in the world. 

GARNER. 

What should we do ? We should not know what is going on. 

FLORA. 

What is the use of knowing what is going on ever so far 
away. There is plenty going on here if you could only see it. 


52 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GARNER. 

What’s going on here ? 

FLORA. 

Listen and I will tell you. 

(Lightfoot and Mrs. Garner, having been conversing with action, come for 
ward and he is heard — ) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

But youth is not a chronic disease ! If I might hope that in 
a year — or six months or even — three years, or — (Aside.) Lord, 
this is worse than the street in a panic, or Court on a first 
Monday. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Dear Mr. Lightfoot, you will agree, I am sure, that it ought 
not to be lightly decided. First, we must be certain that you 
and Flora have a serious feeling for each other — 


LIGHTFOOT. 

As to that we are quite certain. You may ask Flo yourself. 
It was settled at the pic-nic, when we took that little walk, that 
— that things were all right — really serious — 


MRS. GARNER. 


But, dear me, that cannot be settled in a minute, 
time — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Well, we just had time., 


It requires 


MRS. GARNER. 

(Aside.) Gracious, I wonder what his idea of eternity is. 
(Aloud.) Then we must see whether your characters are suited. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, I can guarantee that. I can suit my character to any 
circumstances. Then our characters are remarkably alike. See, 
we are both young — and — sometimes serious — sometimes gay 
— sometimes — a — nothing in particular — and all that, you know. 
There is no trouble about character, I can assure you. All 
that is easily fixed ! 


ACT THIRD. 


53 


MRS. GARNER. 

And lastly — whether your worldly position and prospects jus- 
tify you in marrying. 

lilGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) Now she has got me. Lord, what a woman ! (Aloud.) 
My prospects are good — in fact my prospects are always splendid! 
No difficulty at all about the f uture. It is the present which — a — 
but still, even now I have one equity suit in which there are in- 
fants — and then I have an eye on a Directorship in a railroad — 
that is a fortune, you know — and then — then there is money 
in that street — and — and — (Confidentially.) — I have just heard 
from a friend of mine who is behind the curtain — he has prom- 
ised me a real inside point on — 

MRS. GARNER. 

Pardon me ! I do not demand that my daughter’s husband 
should be rich. I would only have him able to sustain his 
family in comfort, without becoming a drudge or devoting all 
his energies to business. 

lilGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) Humph ! Thinking of her own old hubby now. 
(Aloud.) Then my answer is — 

MRS. GARNER. 

That you and Flora must wait — must prove yourselves and 
each other before there can be any engagement between you. 

lilGHTFOOT. 

But won’t you let me try to convince you ? Ah noAV, be a 
little kind — remember, my dear madam, you were young once 

(Mrs. Garner starts.) — Oh ! I — I — mean very young — so high— 

that is— a— a baby— (Aside.) Oh ! Lord, this is the red sea. 

(lilGHTFOOT and Mrs. Garner converse apart— L ightfoot gesticulating ener- 
getically.) 

GARNER. 

I tell you, Flo, he is nothing but a stock gambler. He told 
me as much himself. Such a fellow can’t pay strict attention 


54 


THE WATCHWORD. 


to his business, and it’s only by strict attention to business that 
a man can get on — 

FLORA. 

But papa darling, if I like him — do you want to make me 
unhappy ? 

GARNER. 

Make you unhappy ? You know I would give every cent 
I have in the world to make you happy — talk to your mother — 
it’s her business more than mine. 

(Enter Tom.) 

TOM. 

Marster Herbert say he want to see de lady ob de house. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Aside.) Persistent — I suppose I must see him. (Aloud.) Show 
the gentleman in, Tom. 

(Exit Tom.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Aside to garner.) John, could you manage to take Mr. Light- 
foot away for awhile ? It is best that I should have a few 
words alone with Mrs. Rosefield’s troublesome visitor — 

GARNER. 

Come, Lightfoot, let’s have a game of billiards— 
lightfoot. 

I’m with you. (Aside.) I wonder what Flo got out of the old 
fellow. He isn’t as tough as the old woman. She can double 
discount him ! 

(Exeunt Garner and Lightfoot.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

You had better see how Jessie is, my dear. 

FLORA. 

Yes, mama — (Pausing and lingering.) — did you speak, mama dear? 


ACT THIRD. 


55 


No — no — run up. 


MRS. GARNER. 


FLORA. 

(Aside.) I hoped she was going to say something about him . 
(Exit Flora. Enter Tom announcing.) 


TOM. 

Marster Herbert. 

(Enter Delmar. Mrs. Garner bows. Exit Tom.) 

DELMAR. 

I trust you will pardon this intrusion, madam — 

MRS. GARNER. 

Do not mention it, sir. 

DELMAR. 

You can perhaps imagine, madam, why I am here. I expected 
to see my friend, Mrs. — a — Rosefield, this evening at her 
own house. Instead of this, I find she passes the night here 
with you. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Is there anything surprising in that, sir ? 

DELMAR. 

Perhaps not;— I only desire to call your attention to the fact 
which obliges me to seek her under your roof — which is rather 
an unusual proceeding. To be frank with you, I have import- 
ant reasons for desiring to see Mrs. Rosefield to-night — import- 
ant, I may say, imperative reasons. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(ill at ease.) I am sorry, Mrs. Rosefield is feeling quite ill this 
evening. I think your interview will have to be postponed till 
to-morrow. 

DELMAR. 

Pardon my importunity. I repeat that it is absolutely essen- 
tial that I should see Mrs. Rosefield to-night. May I ask you 


56 


THE WATCHWORD. 


as her friend to say this to her and that I will return at nine 
o’clock. I think on reflection she will see the wisdom and pru- 
dence of receiving me. 

(Delmar bows and goes rapidly towards the door. Enter General Hendioutt 
at the same entrance.) 

GENERAL. 

I beg pardon. (Crosses to Mrs. Garner.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

My dear General, I ought to scold you. We expected you to 
dinner. 

DELMAR. 

(Aside. Pausing a moment and frowning.) That man again ! 

(Exit Delmab.) 

GENERAL. 

I felt unaccountably weary and depressed — even ill (Touching 
his wound.) — and I went to my solitary den to rest, lest my pres- 
ence should be only an infliction — 

MRS. GARNER. 

That has been the case with others as well. Mrs. Bosefield 
has not left her room this evening and — 

GENERAL. 

(Quickly.) Is it possible V Shall we not see her then ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

Perhaps she may be induced to change her mind and join us 
for a few minutes. 

GENERAL. 

(Eagerly.) Do you think so ? If you would use your influence ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

I will gladly do so. Will you amuse yourself with the paper 
or join the gentlemen in the billiard room — 

GENERAL. 

Thanks. I will remain here. (He sits.) 


ACT THIRD. 


57 


MRS. GARNER. 

(Hesitating and retracing her steps.) My dear old friend — if I might 
presume to offer you a word of counsel — 


GENERAL. 

(Starting as from a reverie.) I beg pardon — 


MRS. GARNER. 


(Confused.) No matter now — (Aside.) I shall have another oppor- 
tunity. 


(Exit Mrs. Garner.) 


GENERAL. 

These are the flowers her sweet hand plucked to-day — I have 
become a very boy — My life, waking and sleeping, is but a 
dream of her — She seemed moved at the words which sprang 
to my lips in spite of myself and yet — how can she care for 
one so much her senior ? Shall I let the blessing of her love 
slip from me without an effort — this dear light fade out of my 
lonely life ?— Her step ! How hard it is to seem’ composed — 

(Enter Mrs. Garner and Mrs. Roseeield pale and languid.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

I have persuaded her that she will be just as well here as in 
her room — 

GENERAL. 

Much better ; — much better ; — let me bring an arm-chair — 
There ! Is it well so ? 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

You are very kind — 

(Mrs. Garner sits at the table and takes up her work.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

Now, General, all that we need to complete our felicity is to 
hear some of your wild adventures in those far off places. 


GENERAL. 

(To Mrs. Garner.) I should make a poor Othello, but 


58 


THE WATCHWORD. 


(Enter Tom.) 

TOM. 

Please, missus, Miss Jess’ took right bad ; — says she can’t 
live ; — and Miss Flo want you right off — 


MRS. GARNER. 

Provoking J Just as I am comfortably settled here— 


TOM. 

She’s callin’ out to Miss Flo, missus, that she’s gwine to die — 
she knows she’s gwine to die : — de trouble’s here , missus — 
(Touching his waistcoat.) — and the pepmint and camphire’s fiyin 
round lively — yah, yah — golly ! 

MRS. GARNER. 

The real trouble is here. (Pointing to her head.) Well, I will come, 
Tom. (Exit Tom.) The foolish girl ! I am sure it is nothing seri- 
ous. I will soon return. (Aside.) There can’t be much mischief 
done in a few minutes. 

(Exit Mrs. Gabneb.) 

(During the scene which follows, the moon is seen through the long windows, 
gradually rising. As the scene progresses its light envelopes the characters.) 

GENERAL. 

You see that my anxiety about you this morning was not 
groundless — 

MRS. ROSEEIELD. 

You were right : — I think the air here does not agree — 

GENERAL. 

O, do not say that ! Only too well I realize that these are the 
last of the summer days ; that you are a stranger here and will 
soon be going away — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Meaningly.) Sooner perhaps than you think — I may be obliged 
to quit suddenly, the kind friends I have met here. 


ACT THIRD. 


59 


GENERAL. 

And I — this afternoon I received a dispatch directing me to 
hold myself in readiness for orders. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Sadly.) The summer is indeed gone. 

GENERAL. 

If I could tell you how long the hours are when you are not 
there — that day by day I feel more and more that I only live in 
your presence ! Do not look astonished ! Do not turn away ! 
I must speak — though it be only this once — I must. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

You know not what you do when you speak such words to 
me. 

GENERAL. 

I know there is nothing in me — nothing in my fortunes to 
charm you — I lack the courtly grace that attracts women ; but I 
have an honest and devoted heart, and I have given it to you 
freely, fully and beyond the power of recall. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

There is sorrow and danger in loving me. 

GENERAL. 

What are sorrow and danger to me if I may hope to win 
you? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

You would not speak such words lightly — there may be hope 
even for me — but — but — 

GENERAL. 

Oh, speak, speak! Why do you hesitate ? 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Because — I must tell you something — something, oh, so hard 
and bitter to tell — 


60 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GENERA!.. 

Yon keep me in an agony of suspense. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

This is but childishness, since I must tell you. There! I 
will be calm — Did you observe the gentleman in whose boat I 
returned from the Island to-day? 

GENERAL. 

(Hurriedly.) Yes, yes; I noticed him as an addition to our party. 
What of him? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

He is my husband ! 

GENERAL. 

(Stupified.) I do not understand you. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I say that I am married and that you have seen my husband, 
who is here in pursuit of me. 

GENERAL. 

Your husband — this man — your husband! (Overcome, he sinks 
into a chair by the table.) 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

But I have left him — irrevocably left him I must — I will be 
freed from these fetters: — I have not cared for freedom — I 
sought only escape and peace; — I could not think that I should 
ever again be willing to trust my happiness to any man — 

GENERAL. 

Cruel ! Cruel ! Why have I not known this? Why did I 
meet you, believing you free? 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 


Do not reproach me ! Could I foresee this? Time presses — 
I must speak while I have the opportunity. Try to listen to 


ACT THIRD. 


61 


GENERAL. 

I feel like one in an evil dream. But I will try to compre- 
hend you. Speak on — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Did you ever have a sister ? Do you know what an innocent, 
confiding, loving girl is ? 

GENERAL. 

(Sadly.) Yes. She has slept under the snows this many a 
year. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Such was I when I married. All my life — all my being were 
concentrated in one feeling — my love for him — 

GENERAL. 

You loved him ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Devotedly ; but I committed a woman’s unpardonable sin ; I 
expected an equal devotion in return. It was agreeable to be 
adored, but the idol would make no sacrifice of, vanity or self- 
ishness or idle pleasure for the poor worshipper. In my heart, 
nothing weighed in the balance with him; but he — every other 
consideration outweighed me in his esteem — 

GENERAL. 

(Turning to her eagerly.) Was he faithless ? 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I have abundant reason to believe he was, though I could not 
prove it. 

GENERAL. 

Ah! 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I saw him kind and gracious and complaisant with other 
women ; but at home felt only his tyrannical harshness. 


GENERAL. 

(Fixedly, and as if unconscious of her last remark.) You could not 
prove him faithless ? 


62 


THE WATCHWORD. 


MBS. ROSEFIELD. 

I know that I did not bear neglect and slight patiently. 
I reproached and exacted. Then came a brutality that stopped 
short only of blows ; and which wounded the soul more in- 
curably than blows could have done without slaying the body. 

GENERAL. 

(Aside.) Heaven give me strength ! 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Years of this ; and one day I stood upon a desolate hearth- 
stone, with a dead love in my heart. Before me lay the guilty 
letters of some nameless woman. Then a wild desire for peace 
and rest took possession of me. I dreamed of a secluded home 
in the country, where I might teach my son to be a just man. 
I was an orphan ; there was no one to care whether I was happy 
or miserable ; but my father had left me a small competence in 
my own right. Trusting to this I left the abode which had 
long ceased to be my home. 

GENERAL. 

Left it secretly ? Fled away from it ? 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Yes. He would not have consented to a separation. He 
cares not for me, but much for his own fair name. He has pur- 
sued me from point to point until at last he has found me. 
But it is in vain ; all is over between us forever — forever ! I 
will go where the laws are less rigid— more adapted to human 
needs— and the joyless tie which binds me to a cold and , 
cynical tyrant — to a hard and cruel master — shall be sundered. 

GENERAL. 

(With an effort aud slowly rising.) l__ I have dared to love you— 
dared to tell you so. What shall I say now ? Oh, what shall I 
say ? I have been taught to consider marriage a sacred insti- 
tution — 


ACT THIRD. 


63 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

And so it is when it makes the sacred home — when the chil- 
dren look back to it in after years lovingly, reverently ; but do 
you believe that any benediction can bless the household where 
there is naught save oppression and violence on the one 
side and fear and suffering on the other ? 

GENERAL. 

(Speaking at first in a low and broken voice, which gradually rises unt 1 it be- 
comes clear and firm.) This is the bitterest hour of all my life. 
My hopes — my dreams are scattered to the winds; — but though 
my heart break, my conscience must speak. There is one 
memory dearer and more sacred to me than all others — my 
mother, instructing her children in the austere idea of duty. 
High above all others, she held the duty of a wife to bear with 
the frailties of a husband, until she lifted him to a nobler level. 
The vow she makes, the responsibility she assumes, are not 
lightly to be set aside. Even when the husband has broken faith 
(so she taught) let the wife still strive, with forgiveness, pa- 
tience, love, to win him back ! Oh ! dear lady i I would give 
my life for your happiness, but I cannot forget, even in this 
terrible temptation, the pious and noble teachings received 
from a dead mother’s lips. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Bitterly.) I thank you for the moral lesson. Bo /then, when a 
woman’s heart cries out for sympathy and tenderness, she must 
crush it into a passive endurance of coldness and neglect ; curb 
with a strong will her honest indignation at injustice and un- 
deserved unkindness ; be meek and mild and patient under 
wrong— outrage— faithlessness. Oh, you, like all the rest, are 
cruel, merciless to a rebellious but helpless woman ! 

(Enter Tom.) 

TOM. 

Marster Herbert, missus, says he must see you. 


64 


THE WATCHWORD. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Ah ! (After a pause, a thought seems to flash through her mind. She looks 
for a moment intently at the General and theu turns to Tom.) Show llilll 
into the library ! I will see him. 


(Exit Tom.) 


GENERAL. 

(Springing forward and in great agitation.) Do not be rash ! Do not 
act from impulse. Think ! Pause ! What would you do ? 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Bitterly.) What you would have me do ! — I will at least be 
worthy of your esteem. 


(Exit Mrs. Rosefield.) 


GENERAL. 

Following.) One word! One moment ! Oh! misery! misery! 


(He falls ou a chair, throws his arms on a table and bows his head upon them.) 


ACT FOURTH. 


THE MAN. 


THE MORNING OF THE FOLLOWING DAY. 


Scene— Mr. Garner’s library. 


GARNER. 

(At the table, left, looking at his watch.) The mail must be late. 
(Taking up a newspaper.) Confound these local papers ! Nothing in 
them but about bitters and patent medicines. 

(Enter Mrs. Garner, with a letter.) 

i 

MRS. GARNER. 

John, dear, I want you to do me a favor. 

GARNER. 

(Ta,king his check-book from a drawer.) Certainly, my love, llOW 
much ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

No, it is not for myself, but for our poor friend. Last night, 
while almost wild with grief and resentment, she gave her bad, 
wicked husband a promise which this morning she bitterly 
repents. She now implores me to protect her and, for the 
present at least, to give her an asylum ; and I have agreed to 
do so subject to your approval. This letter conveys her final 
resolve to Mr. Delmar, and I am to send it if you will let me. 

GARNER. 

Phew ! It’s not business ; as a practical man, I must say it 
is a ticklish matter to harbor another man’s wife — particularly 


66 


THE WATCHWORD. 


when there’s so much moral insanity about. Besides, I don’t 
want to get into the newspapers and be called a hoary-headed 
old sinner — or to have the illustrated weeklies filled with strik- 
ing likenesses of the deceased libertine ; no, no, no ; it’s not 
business. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Nonsense, John. No one would ever think of suspecting 
one who has always been so good a husband — 

GARNER. 

Wouldn’t they, though ! They’d suspect a man if he were 
eighty and paralyzed. 

MRS. GARNER. 

I Avill answer for that. Besides, it is your wife, not you, who 
assumes the responsibility. 

GARNER. 

Well, well, it is evident we are out of business. Still, I have 
always found you, my dear, about light, and what you say, I’ll 
stand by. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Kissing him.) My good John ! The best of husbands ! 

(Enter Tom, with mail-bag.) 

TOM. 

De mornin’ mail at lass, Mars’ Garner. (Giving Garner mail-bag.) 

GARNER. 

What was the matter, Tom ? 

TOM. 

Dey say de train hab a hot journey, sail. 

GARNER. 

A hot journal, you mean. (Looking over the letters and handing some 
of them to Mrs. Garner.) These, Jane, are for you and Flo. 

TOM. 

I tho’t it had rufferance to makin’ it hot for de cow. 


ACT FOURTH. 


67 


GARNER. 

And here is a weekly for Jessie ; devoted to fashion and ro- 
mance. Take it up to her, Tom. 

TOM. 

Yas, sah. (Aside.) I s’pose dis is what dey call a hot journal. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Giving tom letter.) Now, Tom, take this at once to Mr. D 

Herbert, at the village hotel. 

TOM. 

Yas, missus. (ExitToM.) 

GARNER. 

(Crushing a letter and throwing it down with force.) People seem to 
think that a man who gives up money-making must be a fool; — 
a dozen letters daily, trying to get me into such wild-cat 
schemes, because, as they all say, I now have ample leisure. 

MRS. GARNER. 

What is it they all want, John ? 

GARNER. 

Money, of course ; here’s a project for balloon navigation — 
“plan with colored maps enclosed,” (Exhibiting it to the audience.)— 
that means picture of the balloon. (Reading.) “This is now 
rendered perfectly feasible by means of our great serial rudder 
and the scientific application of electricity to head-winds — 
and as I must be looking for what he calls ‘ ‘ some light and 
pleasing occupation ” 

MRS. GARNER. 

“ Light and pleasing occupation !” What ! Traveling about 
in a balloon ! 

GARNER. 

Exactly ! And they want to spend my money in — gas ! 

MRS. GARNER. 

That is not what they need so much as — ballast ! 


68 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GARNER. 

And here is a scheme to tunnel the British Channel to avoid 
sea-sickness; — picture of a sea-sick man in a bunk, and a happy, 
comfortable, well-looking man in a cushioned chair. (Exhibiting it.) 
Ah, here is something more in your line, Jane — dress reform — 
suspenders — down with corsets — and gaiters. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Looking over his shoulder.) Not gaiters, my dear. Why, John, 
you make me blush. 

GARNER. 

Oh, I see. I mistook an r for an i ; — and every woman is to 

wear a eh, what’s this word; — a che — che — chem — chemi — . 

I can’t make it out. 

MRS. GARNER. 

A chemiloon, my dear. 

GARNER. 

What in Heaven’s name is that ! Oh, I see picture as usual 
enclosed. (Half exhibiting it— giving her letter.) Well, you can attend 
to that; — but I don’t see what my being out of business has to 
do with chemiloons and — hem ! — gaiters. Here’s a fellow who 
says that impure air is the cause of all disease 

MRS. GARNER. 

Gracious ! This says it is corsets. 

GARNER. 

(Continuing— reads.) “Supply every house in New York with 
pure, dry mountain air and you crush disease ” 

MRS. GARNER. 

But how ? 

GARNER. 

The simplest thing in the world. By placing an enormous 
force-pump on the top of the Catskill Mountains and running 
pipes down to town. Here’s a picture of the proposed force- 
pump, with a flag on top and planted on a snow-clad peak. 

(Exhibiting it.) 


ACT FOURTH. 


69 


MRS. GAENER. 

The dry, pure air seems to be howling fearfully about it. 

GARNER. 

That’s what I’d be doing too, if my money was in that force- 
pump. — Now here is soft sawder from a lady who calls herself 
an “ advanced thinker ” — wants me to discuss the live topics of 
the day — 

MRS. GARNER. 

What is her live topic ? 

GARNER. 

Let me see ; — ah, yes — “justice to woman;” — wants me to 
■' speak on a platform and pay the expenses of the Hall — nothing 
but rent, she says — no refreshments — there never are; — and 
what’s this — cremation — calls that a live topic : — and do you see 
this perfumed little billet doux — 

MRS. GARNER. 

I declare, J ohn, it looks like a love letter. * 

GARNER. 

Well, it’s something very like it. She commences: — “Be- 
loved soul friend ” — what do you think of that ? Wants me to 
go in strong for what she calls “freedom of the affections, com- 
monly styled — free love! ” 

MRS. GARNER. 

Horrors ! Oh, the wretch ! 

GARNER. 

Says I have ample leisure ! — Says she firmly believes I am 
an “affinity”! I declare this must be the woman who accused 
her husband of being too good for her — 

MRS. GARNER. 

Well, I hope he admitted the charge. 


70 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GARNER. 

Now, my dear, when you see what people imagine idleness, 
or as you call it, elegant leisure, comes to, don’t you think it’s 
about time for me to go to work ? Here (Showing letter) is my old 
partner says they are in trouble and miss my business skill and 
capital — and begs me to come back and help them along — 
heigh-ho ! 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Becoming suddenly grave and looking attentively at her husband.) You are 

not serious, John ? 

GARNER. 

'Confused and trying to laugh.) Only a joke, my dear; only a joke. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(More serious.) John, dear, it seems to me sometimes of late, 
that I have acted selfishly toward you. Your life has been so 
busy and active, how can I expect you to be happy my way. 
Even now you are so good, you do not like to confess to me the 
weariness you feel. You fear to disappoint me. But I canhot 
any longer deceive myself. I see how it is. 

GARNER. 

And it would disappoint you, Jane ? Why, yes ; I declare I 
see tears in your eyes this minute. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Yes, John, I must own it does disappoint me. I had thought, 
I had hoped — but no matter. (Dries her eyes.) You have always 
studied my 'happiness — never denied me anything; — what are 
all my plans and castles in the air compared to your happiness? 
(Hesitates a moment — dries a few more tears . ) — John, write to your old 
partner that you accept. 

GARNER. 

Why, Jane, you astonish me! You take away my breath! 
Go back ! Go back to business ! Why, you dear, blessed 
wife, give me a kiss ! — (His manner from this moment seems to change to 
that of a man of business greatly pressed for time.)— Now, Illy dear, thanks 


ACT FOURTH. 


71 


to your goodness, I am a man of business once more. So — 
(Looking at his watch)— time’s up. I have not a moment. Business 
is business. I must advise my old partner at once. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Oil, John, John, that is the dreadful old talk and manner. 
(Aside,) And he looks so cruelly happy. 

GARNER. 

Yes, my dear, always attended strictly to business and let you 
have all your own way at home — that’s what the women call a 
good husband — excuse me now — I am a little pressed — want 
any money ? No ? Well, then, to work. (He goes to the table and 
writes. Laughter and gaiety heard without.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Drying a tear.) Alas! How true the old saying — nothing per- 
manent but change ! My dream is over. Well, he is happy, 
and that is the last tear I will ever give it, dear as it was. 

» 

(Enter Lightfoot, Flora, Adcap and Jessie, all dressed gaily as equestrians 
and equestriennes. Adcap has his riding-whip in his teeth and holds in his hands 
au enormous fruit-dish filled with apples. Jessie holds a large bowl filled with 
sugar.) 


JESSIE. 

My pony will bite. I know he’ll bite ! 

ADCAP. 

He c-can’t with his m-mouth full of — 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Of riding-whip ? 

ADCAP. 

No — of ap-ples and s-sugar. 


MRS. GARNER. 

(To Jessie.) Why, child, how is this ? Up and well and off for 
a ride ? 


72 


THE WATCHWORD. 


JESSIE. 

Oh, I got over it the moment I heard they were going to 
have such splendid fun — Oh, such a gilly time ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside to Floba.) Our horses are the swiftest — 

FLORA. 

Indeed ! I don’t mean to let them run away with my pru- 
dence. Besides, I must matronize Jessie. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Ah ! Matronize me ! — Her pony is sure to die of indigestion 
before we start. No animal can survive all this sugar and raw 
apples. 

ADCAP. 

(To Jessie.) He w-won’t bite — but he m-may k-kick. 

JESSIE. 

Kick ! Oh Heavens ! He will — I know he will ; — what’s 
good for kicking ? — Shall I give him ess bouquet — or marons 
glaces — 

ADCAP. 

No — you m-must tie his h-hind legs with a s-string ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Come, let’s be off. 


JESSIE. 

Oh, wait — has any one a string — he’ll throw me over his head 
(Crying,) and break — break — my neck. 

ADCAP. 

He c-can’t if you wear a r-ruffle. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Or take out an accident policy. 


ACT FOURTH. 


73 


MBS. GARNER. 

There, be off — and don’t be too wild ; — and you, Flora, re- 
main a moment with me — I want to speak to you. — (To the others.) 
She won’t keep you waiting — 

JESSIE. 

(Hysterically.) I know lie’ll break my neck — and my new habit 
will be ruined. 

(Exeunt Jessie, Lightfoot and Adoap.) 


FLORA. 

(Looking at her mother.) Turn your face to me, mama ! — More! — 
You have been crying, positively crying ! What is the matter? 
Nothing dreadful, is it ? 

MRS. GARNEB. 

Nothing very serious, my dear ; though I have been crying a 
little. I want to tell you, Flo, that I have advised papa to go 
back to business, and that we shall shortly return to town. 

FLORA. 

Go back to business ! Oh ! that can’t be ! Papa — (Turns 
towards Garner.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

Hush ! You must not speak a word to him about it. He 
would be capable of renouncing his project if he thought it 
grieved us. We have no right to accept such a sacrifice — 

FLORA. 

But, mama, darling — I declare I could cry myself. 

MRS. GARNER. , 

No, no, you will not do that. You will be a brave, true- 
hearted girl, and help to sustain your mother ; for I own this is 
a trial to me. And, my dear little girl, think twice before you 
dignify a fancy, perhaps an unworthy fancy, with the name of 
love. Look at our poor friend here, and consider all the 
misery that springs from an unhappy marriage — 


6 


74 


THE WATCHWORD. 


FLORA. 

I understand you, mama — 

MRS. GARNER. 

Think of it. Think what sorrow would be mine if my only 
child should make such a mistake. 

FLORA. 

(Moved.) I will be careful and thoughtful and discreet — and 
you will not cry any more, will you? — And papa — oh, it if really 
dreadful. 

(Lightfoot puts Ills head in at the back.) 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, do come — everything is going wrong — we can’t get Miss 
Jessie to mount — she has spilt all the apples and sugar — do 
come and help us — 

FLORA. 

Tell her I am coming directly. (Exit Lightfoot.) Now, papa, 
come and see me mount. 

GARNER. 

(Looking up abstractly from his writing.) Mount? I Can’t mount. I 
have not a moment. Don’t bother me now, there’s a good girl. 

FLORA. 

But, papa — 

GARNER. 

There’s a dear girl — don’t disturb me when I am busy — kiss 
me — that’s right — want a new dress? — of course you do — 
and a new bonnet — and all that — to be sure — get them — get 
lots of things — and send the bill to me ; — now run along, run 
along, there’s a good girl. 

FLORA. 

Oh, gracious goodness! — If that is not the old city talk! — 
Why, he’s completely metamorphosed. (Firmly.) No — this shall 
not be. (She seizes his arm, places it in hers, makes a great effort and draws 
him away from the table and towards the door.) You are my dear, darl- 
ing old prisoner — so, come along ! 


ACT FOURTH. 


75 


GARNER. 

(Yielding entirely.) Well, I will. I never could resist you, you 
precious little puss. There— give me a sweet kiss— and another 
—Gome, J ane, let us go and see our little Flo mount. 

(Exeunt Garner and Flora. Garner with his arm around Flora’s waist, and 
her head ®n his shoulder.— Mrs. Garner following. Enter Tom with a letter.) 

TOM. 

Marster Herbert’s answer. He told me for to gib it to Miss 
Rose right oft'. 

MRS. GARNER. 

Give it to me, Tom. Mrs. Rosefield is lying down, and must 
not be disturbed. 

TOM. 

All right, missus. (Giviug letter.) I reckon, tho’, its somethin’ 
putty partickler — for Mars’ Herbert cussed and swored considu- 
bul, an’ say he be round here hisself in less’n haf an hour — 
SUah ! (Crosses to the fire and replenishes it.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

Coming here — and so soon — this is evidently serious. I hate 
to awaken her — but — yes, I must ; — she should at least be pre- 
pared for the shock. 

(Exit Mrs. Garner.) 

TOM. 

I neber see’d such a gemman as Mars’ Herbert in all my born 
days. Golly! How black he look when he read dat letter. 
Hope Miss Rose not gwine to marry him. She’ll hab a life if 
she do. 

(Enter General Hendicutt. He isrery pale, and looks wearied.) 

GENERAL. 

Is Mrs. Rosefield within, Tom? 

TOM. 

Miss Rose ’s sleepin’, sah. 

(The General paces agitatedly up and down,) 


76 


THE WATCHWORD. 


TOM. 

(Observing him. Aside.) Wat de matter wid OUr Gen’l. (Aloud.) 
Any message, Gen’l ? 

GENERAL. 

No, Tom, I will write. (Sits at a table, takes up a peu as if to write, 
but holds it idly, looking into vacancy.) 


(Aside.) Reckon our Gen’l little soft on Miss Rose, too — 
golly! Wouldn’t dis cliile like to open de champagne for dem 
—yah, yah— golly ! 

(Exit Tom.) , 

GENERAL. 

(Bowing his head on his hands.) What a night of chaotic agony ! 
How I have suffered ! How I have struggled ! In vain — all in 
vain: — I — I cannot abandon her ! I cannot let her go back to 
that hard, cold life — to that faithless husband; — she, whom I 
love so dearly — unappreciated, unloved, harshly, brutally 
treated — gracious Heavens ! (starts up.) How could I know it 
and live! She has no father — no brother — no one : — she looked 
to me for hope and comfort, and I was so cruel, so merciless. 
The shock of that fatal disclosure must have turned my brain, 
when I could calmly contemplate the immolation of this de- 
fenceless woman. No, no — it cannot, it shall not be — (sits at the 
table and writes rapidly.) 

(Enter Mrs. Rosepield hastily, with Delmar’s letter open in her hand. The 
General starts up.) 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Retreating a step.) I did not know — I did not expect — 
GENERAL. 

I came to see you; — see, I was writing to you — you would not 
hear a parting word from me last night — I did not deserve that 
you should. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Gently.) I have not blamed you. 


ACT FOURTH. 


77 


GENERAL. 

(Tenderly.) But my heart has blamed me. How hard I have 
tried to remember the ideas that hold men sternly up ! — I could not 
— I cannot. They are only words that mean nothing to me 
now. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Aside— with emotion.) He does love me ! 

GENERAL. 

(Taking her hand and holding it in both of his own.) There is Only one 
thing real to me in all the world. It is you in your unshared, 
unhelped sorrow. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Softly.) Not quite unshared since you think of it and perhaps 
sorrow with me. 


GENERAL. 

How deeply ! Oh ! how deeply ! 

(Enter Delmar. He stands for a moment unperceived, observing them; then 
advances. ) 

DELMAR. 

(With cold irony.) I am very sorry to interrupt such a charming 
tete-a-tete ; but I must have a few words with you, sir, though 
I have not the honor of knowing your name. 

GENERAL. 

(Haughtily.) My name, sir, is Ralph Hendicutt — 

DELMAR. 

And I am this lady’s husband, as I presume you are aware. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Aside, in great agitation.) Wliat a misfortune ! Why did I leave 
my room ! (Aside to the General.) I entreat you, be calm — be tem- 
perate — in the name of all you hold dear in the world ! If dan- 
ger— if harm— should come through me— I could never forgive 
myself. 


78 


THE WATCHWORD. 


DELMAR. 

You, madam, will have the kindness to withdraw. I shall 
hold some conversation with you later. 


(Mrs. Rosefield, with an appealing look at the General, moves towards the 
door.) 

GENERAL. 

(Aside, with an expression of the deepest grief.) And I have no right to 
protect her. (He follows Mrs. Rosefield and addresses her with profound 
respect.) In all things, I will obey you, madam. (He opens the door 
and bows as she passes out.) 

DELMAR. 

(Sarcastically.) You, I believe, are the gentleman of whose irre- 
proachable life one hears so much in the village — the soldier sans 
peur et sans reproche — the citizen entirely without vices — in fact, 
the pious ascetic ! — Pray by what code do you regulate your ac- 
tions when you interfere between my wife and myself, and in- 
duce her to take back the promise she gave last night to return 
to her home and duty ? 

GENERAL. 

(impetuously.) She has retracted her promise then ! (More calmly.) 
I was entirely ignorant that she had so decided. 


DELMAR. 

Do not evade, sir, nor seek to deceive me. Did I not see 
you here just now, holding her hand — almost supporting her 
in your arms? 

GENERAL. 

(Indignantly.) Sir ! (Aside.) I must restrain myself. (Aloud.) Sir, I 
am not in the habit of evading nor is it my character to deceive; 
— and if I have remained here it was not at your bidding, but 
that I might appeal to you, as one man may to another, to be 
just to your unhappy wife. 


DELMAR. 

(Sneeringiy.) Indeed ! And pray, sir, who has requested your 
mediation ? 


ACT FOURTH. 


79 


GENERAL. 

No one — no one — the impulse of my heart alone urges me to 
' it. Your wife is alone in the world. Shall not some one speak 
for her ? 

DELMAR. 

My wife is not alone. She has a husband to care for her true 
interests — 

GENERAL. 

(impatiently.) Oh, let us not dally with words ; — between 
yourself and your wife there is no love — no — there is not even 
amity. Why follow her ? Why persecute her ? Why insist 
on her return to a joyless home ? Since she is not essential to 
your happiness, grant her at least the peace of a separate main- 
tenance — 

DELMAR. 

(With restrained rage.) That is to say, that you love my wife ; and 
that I am to step aside and give her up to you ! 

GENERAL. 

(in a stifled voice.) What does it matter to you whether I love 
her or not, since you do not ? 

DELMAR. 

She happens to be my wife; and then I love her well enough, 
when she gives up her sentimental airs and acts like a reason- 
able being — 

GENERAL. 

My love shall not trouble you nor stand for one moment in 
the way of her welfare. Consent to a quiet separation and — 
and — (Pauses for a moment)— and I will give you my word of honor 
as a soldier and a gentleman, that I will never see her again— 
never write to her —never seek to count for anything in her 
life ; — it will be comfort enough for me to know that her days 
are passing in tranquility — 

DELMAR. 

(Bursting into a scornful laugh.) Upon my word, you are very oblig- 
ing — I do not in the least need or appreciate your magnanimity. 


80 


THE WATCHWORD. 


You will see that, without putting your honor to such a severe 
test, I shall know how to arrange my affairs quite to my own 
satisfaction. 

GENERAL. 

(With rising passion.) Well, then, since this is your answer, I tell 
you plainly I will oppose your designs by every means in my 
power. 

DELMAR. 

Take care, sir, or even this roof shall not protect your inso- 
lence. 

GENERAL. 

Here or elsewhere, you are at liberty to hold me responsible 
for my words. 

(Petit Tableau. They look at each other threateningly for a moment— then 
Delmar contemptuously shrugs his shoulders.) 

DELMAR. 

Pooh! I should be a foolto quarrel with you. It would 
serve your turn only too well. 

GENERAL. 

I repeat it. I will oppose your designs by every means in 
my power. Act on my words as you will. You know where I 
am to be found , sir ! 

(Exit General.) 

DELMAR. 

Act on his words indeed. Curse him ! I’d like to act on 
them with a liorse-wliip. 

(Enter Garner. He looks at his watch, seems to be in a state of nervous haste 
and goes direct to his writing-table.) 


GARNER. 

You here ? — want to see my wife ? She’ll be along in a 
minute. 

DELMAR. 

No, sir. I want to see my wife. 


ACT FOURTH. 


81 


GARNER. 

(Coolly.) But you can’t ; — that’s all settled. 

DELMAR. 

Indeed ! And pray who settled it. 

GARNER. 

My wife, of course. She always settles everything. 

DEIiMAR. 

Come, sir, I’d have you know — 

GARNER. 

What’s the use of getting excited ? You’ve got to stand it. 
I tell you my wife takes all the responsibility, and she’ll explain 
everything (He rings) to your entire satisfaction. (Enter Tom.) Tom, 
tell your mistress that Mr. Delmar is here. (Exit Tom.) Now, if 
you will amuse yourself a minute with the newspaper, I can 
finish this letter in time to catch the mail — time is money, you 
know. (He writes.) 

DEIiMAR. 

(Approaching Garner threateningly.) Sir, do you expect to escape 
responsibility by throwiug it on your wife. 

GARNER. 

(Looking up suddenly from his writing.) No ! I don’t ! 

(Petit Tableau. They eye each other for a moment.) 

GARNER. 

I took my wife for better or worse, and I’ll stand by her 
through thick and thin. Now, what have you got to say 
about it ? 

DELMAR. 

(Aside.) They all defy me. I must try smoother words. 

GARNER. 

(Aside.) I thought lie was going to eat me — guess he took me 
for a woman. — These fellows who abuse their wives are sure to 
be cowards. Lord, what waste of time. (He writes.) 


82 


THE WATCHWORD. 


(Enter Mrs. Gabneb.) 

MRS GARNER. 

(Bowing.) Mr. Delmar. 

DELMAR. 

(Aside.) Now for the other tack. (Aloud.) Madam, I appeal 
to your woman’s heart. I am here to see my wife — to implore 
her to return to her home — to her family — to society : — am I to 
be denied the right even to plead for reconcilation, peace and 
honor ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Moved.) I am the last person in the world who would deny 
such a right — but — your wife has decided. 

DELMAR. 

Without hearing me. Oh, madam, you are a happy wife — 
the mistress of a happy home : — surely you do not counsel 
separation — the destruction of domestic ties — the loss of family 
honor ! 

MRS. GARNER. 

Heaven forbid ! 

DELMAR. 

Grant me, then, the opportunity to make one last effort to 
avert this great disaster of my life. Last night, without wait- 
ing to hear what I had to urge, she told me that she was 
entirely ready and willing to return to her home. This morn- 
ing all is changed. Do you, can you — a noble wife and mother 
— countenance the designing and unprincipled man who influ- 
ences her conduct ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Coldly.) To whom do you allude, sir. 

DELMAR. 

To this General Ralph Hendicutt. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(With dignity.) Sir, there does not live a nobler, purer, more 
unselfish man than General Hendicutt. If he feel too deep 


ACT FOURTH. 


83 


an interest in your wife, it is his . sorrow and misfortune — not 
his fault. But let that pass. I feel that I ought not to refuse 
your request — but I must impose one condition. 

DELMAR. 

It is acceded to, whatever it may be. 

MRS. GARNER. 

It is simply that you resort to neither violence nor threats. 
Reason, entreat, convince as you will : but no coercion — no 
appeal to her fears. 

DELMAR. 

Upon my sacred honor, your condition shall be scrupulously 
observed. 

MRS. GARNER. 

She shall see you, then, if only for my sake. 

(Exit Mrs. Gabneb.) 

GARNER. 

(Sealing his letter.) Well, has she explained everything ? 

DELMAR. 

Mrs. Garner is kindness itself. 

GARNER. 

That’s just it. She is a good-tempered woman and I am a 
good-tempered man. That’s the reason we get on so well. 
Nothing like good temper — and strict attention to business — to 
pull people through married life. I tell my little Flo, what, 
ever she does, to marry a good-natured man : — none of your 
loafers either, but a fellow who goes down-town every morning, 
and is never round the house when the rooms are being made up : — 
in fact, a sound, practical, level-headed business man— if she can 
get him — but good-natured at all hazards and to avoid your 
men of genius , sir, just as she would a rattlesnake . There, I’ve 
just time to catch the mail. 


(Exit Gabneb.) 


84 


THE WATCHWORD. 


DELMAR. 

(Rubbing his hands.) So far so good. Smooth words and a 
touch of the heroics seem to work well. 

(Enter Mrs. Rosefield. Her manner is serious but gentle, and there is a cer- 
tain undertone of happiness in her face.) 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I have come, that you might never say I would not hear you. 

DELMAR. 

(Showing letter.) Why this letter ? Why this sudden, extra- 
ordinary change ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Because I have reflected. Nothing is changed with us. 
What was bitter in the past would be bitter again — all the more 
bitter after my few months of peace and freedom. 

DELMAR. 

You have reflected ! Have you thought of everything ? 
Have you remembered how closely the honor and interests of 
husband and wife are bound together ? How the suspicion that 
rests on her when she abandons her home, remains an im- 
movable shadow on him. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I cannot be responsible for the injustice of society. 

DELMAR. 

But you can avert it. You say what was bitter would be 
bitter again. Are you sure of that ? Have we not both rubbed 
off our angles ? May not the road be smoother now ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I do not wish to reproach you, for I no longer feel bitterly 
towards you. But ask your conscience if you have ever tried 
to make me happy: — if you ever concerned yourself in the least 
with what passed in my heart and life ? 


ACT FOURTH. 


85 


DELMAR. 

(Confused.) We are not speaking of the past, but of the future. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

And if you did not do this in the days long past, when I was 
perhaps something to you, and you were much to me, how wall 
you do it now when we are so far — so widely estranged ? 

DBLMAR. 

You mistake. You will not look at the position from my 
standpoint. I speak to you of respectability, station, wealth, 
comfort ; things which judicious people prize and dn not lightly 
sacrifice. Then I ask you to remember that you bear my name 
and to save it from reproach. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

There are things that I rank higher and value more than 
station or wealth; — self-respect and the privilege of possessing 
my soul in peace. You see that our views differ too much ; — it 
is impossible for us to meet. 

DELMAR. 

No, no, do not shut the door forever. — I tell you I cannot 
face the mocking world, with its polished sneers, its veiled sar- 
casms, its pretended sympathy ! Do not drive me to despair — 
to harshness — I beg — I entreat — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

It is too late. 

DELMAR. 

(With a sudden burst of rage.) Well, then, if you 
shall be war — pitiless, relentless. Laura, I 
(Mrs. Rosefield utters an ejaculation.) Ah ! the iron 
— remember, you would have war. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Rousing herself.) These are but vain and idle 


will have war, it 
want my child! 
enters your soul 


threats — go ! 


86 


THE WATCHWORD. 


DELMAB. 

Vain and idle threats ! Oh, you think so ! But you shall 
see. You shall learn, and that bitterly, that the wife who 
abandons her husband without cause forfeits her title to her 
child. 

MBS. BOSEFIELD. 

Without cause ! You affirm that I left you without cause ? 

DELMAB. 

I do ! What cause, pray ? That I did not sing under your 
windows every night ; — that some miserable letters — a — a — en- 
trusted to me for — a — a — safe keeping by a friend, fell into 
your jealous hands ! — Bah ! Haven’t you been well lodged, 
fed , clothed? Haven’t you had society, freedom of movement, 
freedom of action ? Oh, the law would laugh at you and your 
“ cause!” 

MBS. BOSEFIELD. 

I do not believe you. There is no law so barbarous — no 
earthly power so wicked — as to tear a child away from its 
mother’s bosom. 

DELMAB. 

(Sneeringiy.) You are a charming woman, but a very poor 
lawyer. You are here with friends — there is a lawyer among 
them — take counsel of him. I will give you time to reflect, to 
decide ; — but when I return, it will be — now mark m.y words, 
Laura — either to take my wife from this house — or my child! 


TABLEAU. 


(The curtain rapidly falling) 


ACT FIFTH. 


PRESTIDIGITATION. 


THE SAME SCENE — HALF AN HOUR ELAPSES. 


Laughter without. 

Enter Lightfoot, Adcap, Flora and Jessie. 

t 


LIGHTFOOT. 

What a glorious ride ! I feel as if I must dance, or fly, or 
embrace the wide world. 

FLORA. 

That is the oxygen ! (They whirl round in a galop.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

No, it’s the love. 

JESSIE. 

That hateful, horrid, spiteful little pony ! He did nothing 
but pull and wobble ; — he’s perfectly hideous. 

ADCAP. 

You should have given him his head. 

.JESSIE. 

I am sure I didn’t want his nasty, stubborn, wicked old head 
— oh, my arms are all gone, and so are — my — my — poor — 1 — 
limbs — 

ADCAP. 

You must apply warm Florida water to the affected parts. 

(He whirls her round in a galop.) 


(Enter Mrs. Rosefield, hurriedly.) 


88 


THE WATCHWORD. 


FLORA. 

(Pausing in the dance. To Mrs. Rosefield.) All ! dear friend, yOU 
see we are very young. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

And full of life— that is right but may I interrupt your 
gaiety for a single moment ? I want to ask Mr. Lightfoot’s 
opinion — professionally. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside— alarmed.) Professionally ! Which profession, I won- 
der — stocks — or law — or man about town — (Aloud.) With pleas- 
ure, madam, if it is not too deep. 

FLORA. 

(Bowing with mock gravity.) I will leave you with your client , sir. 
I must run and look after luncheon. 


JESSIE. 

Oh, do ! I am just starving ; and my limbs are utterly ex- 
hausted. (Dance grows faster.) 

FLORA. 

Well, your limbs don’t act so. 

JESSIE. 

I shall faint — I know I shall — unless I have something to eat; 
and — oh — just a tiny little bit of a wee speck of chartreuse — 
oh, chartreuse is just scr — r — rum ! 

ADCAP. 

Come, let me lead thee to the banquet hall. 

(Jessie almost sinks in Adcap’s arms. Exeunt Flora, Jessie and Adoap.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Now, my dear madam, I am entirely at your service. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Thanks. Understand, sir, that I speak upon behalf of a 
lady friend, who is unhappily separated from her husband. 




ACT FIFTH. 


89 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Ah ! That’s strictly fashionable. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

What she desires to know is — who is entitled to their child ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

That depends upon circumstances, madam. Is the child a 
boy or a girl ? 


A boy. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

And how old ? 


Six years. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

In good health ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Yes. 

LIGHTFOOT. 


And the cause of the separation. The husband is intern 
perate ? 


No. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

A gambler, then ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

No. 


Ah ! A libertine ? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Doubtless. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

That will do. 



MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

But my friend has not sufficient proof, 


THE WATCHWORD. 


UO 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Indeed ! Wliat then ? Is he vicious, depraved, immoral, 
irreligious, likely to be a corrupter of youth ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

A man of the world — no more. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Well, really — I beg pardon— but what then is the cause of 
the separation ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Icy coldness, long-continued neglect, entire want of con- 
sideration, marked and undue attentions to other women — 
indeed the moral certainty of his guilt — tyrannical harshness — 
a cynical brutality — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Brutality ! Oh, I see ; the coward has raised his hand to 
your friend. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

No. It is her soul that lies bruised and bleeding. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

The law, madam, deals but little in sentimental esthetics. 
My opinion will not, I fear, be over agreeable to your friend. 
The husband is ordinarily entitled to the custody of his child. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD, 

His child ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Yes, madam, his child ; we only say her child when the rela- 
tion is immoral. There is no doubt, on the facts, that the 
father is entitled to the custody of the child and that your 
friend is simply in the position of a woman who, without legal 
cause — note my words, without legal cause — has abandoned her 
husband. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Aside.) He was right. I am in his power. 


ACT FIFTH. 


91 


LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) All this is plain enough. Poor thing, I’d like to help 
her. (Aloud.) You say, madam, that your friend has not suf- 
ficient proof. Has she any ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Only these letters — signed Marie — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Marie — let me see them. (Examining them aside.) Good Hea- 
vens, what is this! — the handwriting of Marie "Werner — my 
poor, betrayed, deserted client — and addressed to Gordon — 
well, this is curious. (He looks at Mrs. Rosefield penetratingly.) 
Rosefield — Rosefield — that name puzzles me. (Aloud.) My dear 
madam, these letters may be very important as a clue, but in 
order to estimate their true value to your friend, I must know 
her name — her real name. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I — I — am not authorized to — I will think — that is — confer 
with my friend before disclosing her secret. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Handing back the letters.) Very well ; but in the mean time 
guard these letters carefully, for they may yet be of great ser- 
vice to her. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(As to herself.) In his power. Oh God ! in his power. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside — noticing her distress.) Now, I think I’ll do a good-natured 
act, though it is not strictly professional. Poor women, some 
of them do have hard times. (Aloud.) My dear lady, even if 
these letters do not turn out to be as valuable as I hope, 
still your friend need not despair. There are means of — shall 
I say getting the best of the law. The law is a slow coach, 
sympathy is a limited express. Then the world is all in a con- 
spiracy in favor of an ill-used woman. (With playful gallantry.) 


92 


THE WATCHWORD. 


Especially if slie is young and pretty. (Mrs. rosefield looks at him 
suspiciously.) Oil, that does go a great way. I mourn over the 
fact, but fact it is . — (Mrs. Rosefield evinces annoyance which deepens into 
irritation and finally repugnance as Lightfoot, quite unconscious of the feelings 
he has awakened, innocently proceeds.) So if your friend is — I had 
almost said as she is a young and pretty woman, she can 
easily find a friend who will assist her to travel faster than 
a habeas corpus. (Approaching Mrs. Rose field.) Indeed, I should 
be delighted myself to take your friend under my protection 
and — 

MRS. ROSEF1ELD, 

Protection ! You dare — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Why, what’s the matter — what do you mean V — l r ou take my 
words in a wrong sense. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Oh Heaven help me ! I see now but too plainly how Ioav a 
woman in my position has sunk in the eyes of the world. 

(Enter Mrs. Garner and Flora. They approach Mrs. Rosefield.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

Why, my dear child, what is it ? What has happened ? 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(Raising her tearful face.) My friend, do you think I am no 
longer worthy of respect ? 

MRS. GARNER. 

(With a quick glance at Lightfoot.) Worthy of respect ! Who 
has — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

No one, no one ; it is all a mistake. It was benevolence ; 
sheer benevolence ; I swear it was. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

I did not know that it is to this a woman exposes herself 
when she steps aside from the established order — 


ACT FIFTH. 


93 


FLORA. 

There was no one here but Mr. Lightfoot. He — 

MRS. GARNER. 

I beg you, speak ! 

MRS. ROSEFIELI). 

(Hesitating and looking at Flora.) Perhaps I ought not. 

MRS. GARNER. 

(Aside to Mrs. Rosefield.) For her very sake. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Mr. Lightfoot has mistaken my character and forgotten the 
deference he owes a lady. 


MRS. GARNER. 

(Turning indignantly towards Lightfoot.) Is it possible ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, she is mad, stark mad. Her troubles have been too 
much for her and she sees in every man she meets a — a — hus- 
band ! 

FLORA. 

I want to speak a word. (She advances with girlish dignity to Light- 
foot.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside — nervous and looking as though he wanted to escape.) Flo, too ! 

Oh, Lord ! 

FLORA. 

I am very thankful, sir, that I see you as you really are — be- 
fore — before it be too late. You never felt one single bit of 
love for me — and you have treated this lady in a mean and 
wicked way — I do not wish to know you any more. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Why, Flo, how can you treat me so ! It was only because 
she was vour friend that I — 


94 


THE WATCHWORD. 


MRS. GARNER. 

Mr. Lightfoot, you are — or rather you were my guest. But 
I cannot extend the hospitality of my roof to a man who, when 
a woman comes to him for counsel — lonely, unprotected and in 
sorrow — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Breaking in.) Smashed again ! (Aside.) Sudden panic ! Market 
gone against me ! And I had a sure thing ! Didn’t realize in 
time ! It’s always the way ! Now I must commence life over 
again — like a poor orphan ! Ah, if we were only secretly mar- 
ried, the market would have to touch bottom some time — but 
now, the jig’s up ! (Aloud.) Ladies, I am a victim — an innocent 
\ictim — to my benevolence — (Aside.) It’s no use trying to talk 
to three red hot women — especially when they have settled a 
thing, or a fellow — without any evidence — (Aloud.) Some day, 
ladies, some day — perhaps when I am dead and gone — you will 
do me justice ; — when it is too late, you will be convinced of 
my innocence — and benevolence — that I meant no harm — that 
it was only a little — a — extra professional — that is all. — Good 
morning, ladies. 

(Exit Lightfoot — Flora throws her arms around her mother's neck, sobbing.) 


My darling mama ! 


FLORA. 


MRS. GARNER. 

Dearest child — how happy I am at your escape — 


FLORA. 

Mama, I am going to try and be a better daughter and help 
and comfort you ; — and I will never again think of marrying 
until I am older and wiser and know how to choose — 

MRS. GARNER. 

iKissing her.) You have always been a good child— come now, 
we must tell papa. (To Mrs. rosefield.) I will return directly. 


(Exeunt Mrs. Garner and Flora.) 


95 


ACT FIFTH. 

MBS. ROSEFIELD. 

Oil ! What pain ! What pain ! (Presses her hand on her heart.) 
What shall I do to steady myself ? I cannot think. (Bows her 
face on her hands on the table.) 

Enter Gknkkat,, very pale and looking exhausted.) 

GENERAL. 

At last ! How have I longed to come hack to you ! I have 
walked ever since I left you. There is a fever in my veins. I 
am metamorphosed in body and soul. I seem to live in a new 
world. Oh ! Laura — let me call you so — mine shall be the 
right to protect you — mine the blessed privilege of making you 
happy— 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

You did not speak thus last night ! 

GENERAL. 

But you have forgiven me that. You can remain here with 
our friend, Mrs. Garner. I will depart to-day. You can con- 
sult with her and with some honorable and trustworthy lawyer, 
what steps can be taken to obtain your freedom. I promise 
that I will not seek to see you — will not even write to you — till 
the happy day when you are free — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Too late ! Too late ! 

GENERAL. 

You are weeping. You make me tremble. There is some 
new misfortune — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Yes. If I refuse to go back to my husband, he will take my 
child from me. The law gives him the right— 

GENERAL. 

• He would force you to return by this cruel, cowardly action! 
— But you will not — you will have pity on yourself — pity on me. 


96 


THE WATCHWORD. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

My child ! My little Paul ! My husband knows that he 
holds me by the heart when he touches him ! — 

GENERAL. 

Do not refuse to listen to reason. He must have affection 
for his child — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

None — none whatever. 

GENERAL. 

Paul, at least, will be well cared for. The years pass rapidly. 
When he is older he will seek you. A child’s heart always turns 
to its mother — 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

How could he love me knowing I had forsaken him ? What 
substitute could he find for the sympathy that exists only be- 
tween mother and child ? 

GENERAL. 

And do you make nothing of the sympathy between our 
souls, Laura ? Will you leave all my life desolate ? A mother’s 
love, that means duty, sacrifice, suffering without reward — 
often without appreciation — I would have no ambition but that 
my love might be the sunshine on your path. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

But the mother’s duty is so high — so sacred — so far above all 
others ; — a mother who abandons her child is unnatural ! un- 
pardonable ! 

GENERAL. 

Yes ; if she leave her child to suffering ; but your son’s future 
would be secure. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

How could I bear to think that my image was fading out of his 
memory — that he was perhaps taught to hate my name ! That 
he might have to give to another, to whom he would be only a 
burden, the tender and sacred name of mother. 


ACT FIFTH. 


97 


GENERAL. 

Pause, I implore you, pause ! The ocean may roll between 
us — perhaps that deeper and wider ocean may separate us — then 
you will remember my words — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Have pity on me ! 

GENERAL. 

Think of the barren years that lie before you ! Think of 
your solitude of heart ! Think how often my longing arms 
will be vainly stretched towards you out of the hopeless — hope- 
less distance — 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

What can I do ? What choice have I ? 

GENERAL. 

(Bitterly.) You do not love me ! Or you could not thus calmly- 
cast me from you. 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Calmly ! Cease to add your reproaches to my utter misery. 
If I did not love you, should I be thus crushed, thus wretched '? 


GENERAL. 

Then do not tear yourself from me ! Tell me that you will 
not ! One little word ! 

(Mrs. Rosefield looks at him tenderly and as if yielding, for a moment in 
silence— Paul’s voice without.) 

PAUL. 

Mama ! Mama ! 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

That voice ! ’Tis the cry of my conscience ! 1 hear your 
watchword -duty ! Paul ! Here, my child, here ! 

(Enter Paul. Mrs. Rosefield kneels and clasps him to her breast.) 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Oh ! my child, for you I will give up every joy and every 
hope ! What better can I do with my poor life than to conse- 
crate it to you ! 


98 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GENERAL. 

I have lost her ! I have lost her ! 

(Delmar appears at the door.) 

DELMAR. 

(Coldly,) Your answer, madam ! 

MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

'(Clasping Paul still closer.) This is my answer. I am ready to go 
with you. 

(Delmar’s face lightens. He advances.) 

DELMAR. 

Ah ! 

(Petit Tableau — soft music. Enter Mrs. Garner and Flora. They stop 
astonished, taking in the siluation at a glance. Then they advance to the Gene- 
ral, who stands apart with bowed head. Mrs. Garner stands at his right and 
takes his hand : Flora on his left.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

Take heart, my dear friend, take heart. Heaven will send 
comfort. 

GENERAL. 

Nothing — nothing remains to me but a soldier’s duty and a 
soldier’s grave. 

DELMAR. 

(To the General.) You see I have managed my affairs without 
troubling you. 

(The General averts his face and sinks into a chair. Enter Lightfoot with 
travelling bag and umbrella. He stops suddenly as if taking in the scene.) 

DELMAR. 

(To the General.) But — ha, lia — pardon me, I have quite for- 
gotten to make you acquainted with my wife, — General Hen- 
dicutt — Mrs. Delmar ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aside.) Delmar ! Delmar ! By Jove, I have it now ! Now, 
in about five minutes I shall make those women thoroughly 
ashamed of themselves. 


ACT FIFTH. 


99 


DELMAR. 

(Still sneeringiy to the General.) Ha, ha, so sorry to be compelled to 
leave you, General Hendicutt; but of course — ha, ha — we shall 
see you vei'y often, in town. Now, my dear, if you will honor 
me by accepting my arm, I will assist you to pack and we can 
yet catch the afternoon express. Ta , ta, General ; — ta, ta ! 

(Here his manner changes from light cynicism to coarse brutality. He seizes 
his wife and drags her and Paul towards the door.) Stop VOUI’ infernal 
whimpering and — come ! 


(They meet Lightfoot face to face.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Coolly.) Not quite so fast ! Not quite so fast ! I believe 1 
have the honor of addressing Mr. Herbert Delmar ? 


DELMAR. 

Well, sir. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

My dear Mr. Delmar, you have a very charming wife and a 
most interesting son — 

DELMAR. 

Thank you — thank you — but — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

So charming and so interesting that we shall not be able to 
spare them just at present. 


DELMAR. 

Sir ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

And I propose quite an indefinite extension to their vacation 
— of course with your full and free consent. 

DELMAR. 

(Sneeringiy.) Indeed ; and pray by what means do you expect 
to accomplish that ? 


100 


THE WATCHWORD. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Psychological — you know — unconscious cerebrality — will 
power — all that sort of thing. You are not aware, perhaps, 
that I am a — 

DELMAR 

Fool! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

No ; — a prestidigitateur ! 


DELMAR. 

Enough of this nonsense, sir. I have no time for badinage. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

No, time ? But the trick only takes three minutes — three 
minutes by the watch — and I don’t have to borrow the watch 
from the audience, either — (Indicating Mrs. Garner and Flora, the 
General and Mrs. Rosefield.) — it is the most beautiful bit of leger — 
de — a — legerd ehead that you ever saw. Now, to begin. Be 
perfectly passive. Don’t move. Look at me, straight in the 
eye — if you can. (Low, to delmak, bnt still in a light vein.) I have a 
client ; don’t look incredulous ; it spoils the magnetism. I re- 
peat, I have a client — a lady client, too — young and beautiful — 
I have only one such , I regret to say — but then I am young and 
active — and business is bound to improve- — (Seriously.) — her name 
is Marie Werner! (Delmar shudders and falls back. Lightfoot resumes 
bis light vein.) Oh, tut, tut, tut ; that will never do. You break 
up the currents. You paralyze the Odic force — steady now, 
steady — (Low and serious again.) One day a man calling himself 
Gordon sought out poor Marie, and by pretence of delicate gene- 
rosity, ingratiated himself into her esteem. Love followed. 
Gordon sought to take advantage of the girl’s affection. But 
Marie was as good as she was beautiful, and the scoundrel was 
foiled. At length, by means of a sliam and fraudulent cere- 
mony — - 

DELMAR. 

(Rousing himself with an effort.) Well, what is all this to me ? 


ACT FIFTH. 


101 


LIGHTFOOT. 

This— that here is the likeness of poor Marie Werner— (Taking 

a photograph from his pocket and holding it up before Delmar) while the 

image of Gordon is — there ! (Pointing with his finger energetically, and 
placing it close to Delmab’s face.) 


DELMAR. 

Tis false. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

False ? We shall see. (Approaching Mrs. Rosefield he says to her, 
low.) Those letters — those letters — where are they ? 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

Here. (Giving them to him.) 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Your friend is saved. (He turns again to Delmar.) Now, to com- 
plete the trick. (To Mrs. Rosefield, Mrs. Garner, Flora and the General ) 
Here, as you will observe, ladies and gentlemen, (All exhibit eager 
interest.) are some letters — keep your eyes closely on them — you 
will identify them by the signature — Marie, I believe ! Ah, yes ; 
and the address ? Gordon — Philip Gordon — quite so — just as I 
thought — 

DELMAR. 

I am lost ! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Low to Delmar.) A shadow has been on your track. The 
mystery of your double existence has been penetrated. Days 
ago, but for the assumed names of Rosefield and Herbert, I 
should have — 

DELMAR. 

(Low to lightfoot.) Enough ! I am in your power. If a 
splendid fee — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

(Aloud to an.) Fee ! Bah ! It is only a man who has betrayed 
a woman, who would be capable of asking a lawyer to betray 
his client. 


102 


THE WATCHWORD. 


DELMAR. 

What then do you demand ? 


LIGHTFOOT. 

(Bowing with respect to Mrs. Rosefield.) Let this lady speak first. 
Her wishes must be fully respected. 


MRS. ROSEFIELD. 

(To Lightfoot.) No. It is you who must speak for me. You, 
whom I have so deeply wronged. You, to whom I owe more 
than life. Accept, as a pnrtial reparation, my boundless confi- 
dence. I place my cause entirely in your hands : do with it as 
you will. 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Thanks, madam. I will endeavor to do what is best for all. 
(ToDelmar.) You understand the consequences of the cere- 
mony with Marie Werner, followed as it was by — 


Yes, yes. 


DELMAR. 

LIGHTFOOT. 


Well, then, for your child’s sake I will save you from those 
consequences, provided — 


DELMAR. 

What! What! 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Provided ample provision is made for Marie Werner ; and 
provided you leave your wife and child in peace — trouble them 
no more — and if she desires to obtain her freedom , you will 
attempt no opposition. 


DELMAR. 

I agree to all that you demand. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Ah ! Two minutes and forty-five seconds — fifteen seconds to 
spare — presto ! (To delmar, mockingly.) Now, my dear Mr. Del- 


ACT FIFTH. 


103 


mar, you see I was quite right. We really cannot spare your 
charming wife or your interesting son — but we shall always be 
delighted to see you — 

DELMAR. 

Enough — let me go — 

LIGHTFOOT. 

Ah, if you must tear yourself away; but be sure and look in 
on us occasionally — a — drop in when you are passing — bye, 
bye — Oh, I mean ta, ta, that’s it — ta, ta — ta, ta. 

DELMAR* 

(Aside.) Foiled ! and no way — no way — 

(Exit D ELMAR.) 


MBS. ROSEFIELD. 

(To lighteoot.) How shall I ever thank you — how — Oh — God 
bless you — God bless you — (Kisses his hand.) 

* 

MRS. GARNER. 

And how shall I convince you of my sincere regret? What 
reparation can I offer — 

FLORA. 

Mama, dear — I in reparation 


MRS. GARNER. 

Well, well; he has proved himself worthy, and if papa con- 


sents — 


FLORA. 

papa— oli, dear old papa; he’ll consent to anything— dear, 
dear Bush, I am so glad you have turned out a good boy — 


LIGHTFOOT. 

And so am I— but I shall be careful hereafter not to be too 
benevolent. 

(Enter Garner. Mi’s. Garner and Flora beset him at once, pointing to Light. - 
foot. They overwhelm him in the by-play. with kisses and marked gesticulation-) 


104 


THE WATCHWORD. 


GARNER. 

Oli, very well, very well. Lord bless me, that’ll do. (Approach- 
ing Lightfogt.) Will you promise me to give up stocks? 


LIGHTFOOT. 

(Slyly.) Yes, and pork, too. 

GARNER. 

Ahem! That will do. I give my consent. (Aside.) It might 
be better and it might be worse. But thank Heaven he is not 
a man of genius! (To Mrs. Garner.) My dear, Lightfoot deserves 
well of his country. He has proved that the guilty do not 
always escape — even when they are rich and influential. 


LIGHTFOOT. 

Oh, that is a popular delusion. The rich and influential 
never escape. They are always punished, and severely, too. 

GARNER. 

Severely punished! What! By the law? 

LIGHTFOOT. 

No — by the lawyers ! (Turning his pockets inside out, and exhibiting 
their emptiness.) 

MRS. GARNER. 

(To Mrs. rosefield,) My dear girl, I am so rejoiced I must em- 
brace you. All shall be as we agreed this morning. You will 
remain with us — 


general. 

(To Lightfoot— shaking his hand.) I have no Words, but you must 
know how deeply grateful I am. And now, my dear friends, I 
have only time to say good-bye. I go in an hour to my post 


ACT FIFTH. 


105 


pf duty. (To Mrs. Garner.) You were right; Heaven has sent 
comfort — such unspeakable, unlooked-for comfort. My little 
Paul, you will not forget your old friend; — he will return, 
(Looking tenderly at Mrs. Rosefield.) Heaven willing, he will return. 


TABLEAU. 


Lightfoot, left, With his arm around Flora’s waist. Mrs. Rosefield in the 
centre, between Mr. and Mrs. Garner. General and Paul, right. 







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